IPS 3539 
U13 P8 
1922 
Copy 1 



KICE THIRTY-FINE CENTS 




I ALIAS 
x,w5S SHERLOCK 



BY 



ARTHUR LEWIS TUBBS 



m 




THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA 



Successful Rural Plays 

A Strong List From Which to Select Your 
Next Play 

FARM FOLKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
j-EWis TuBBS. For five male and six female characters. Time 
of playing, two hours and a half. One simple exterior, two 
easy interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Flora Goodwin, a 
farmer's daughter, is engaged to Philip Burleigh, a young New 
Yorker. Philip's mother wants him to marry a society woman, 
and by falsehoods makes Flora believe Philip does not love her. 
Dave Weston, who wants Flora himself, helps the deception by 
intercepting a letter from Philip to Flora. She agrees to marry 
Dave, but on the eve of their marriage Dave confesses, Philip 
. learns the truth, and he and Flora are reunited. It is a simple 
plot, but full of speeches and situations that sway an audience 
alternately to tears and to laughter. 

HOME TIES. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
Lewis Tubes. Characters, four male, five female. Plays two 
hours and a half. Scene, a simple interior — same for all four 
acts. Costumes, modern. One of the strongest plays Mr. Tubbs 
has written. Martin Winn's wife left him when his daughter 
Ruth was a baby. Harold Vincent, the nephew and adopted son 
of the man who has wronged Martin, makes love to Ruth Winn. 
She is also loved by Len Everett, a prosperous young farmer. 
When Martin discovers who Harold is, he orders him to leave 
Ruth. Harold, who does not love sincerely, yields. Ruth dis- 
covers she loves Len, but thinks she has lost him also. Then 
he comes back, and Ruth finds her happiness. 

THE OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE HOME. A New 

England Drama in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For seven 
males and four females. Time, two hours and a half. Costumes, 
modern. A play with a strong heart interest and pathos, yet rich 
in humor. Easy to act and very effective. A rural drama of 
the "Old Homstead" and "Way Down East" type. Two ex- 
terior scenes, one interior, all easy to set. Full of strong sit- 
uations and delightfully humorous passages. The kind of a play 
everybody understands and likes. 

THE OLD DAIRY HOMESTEAD. A Rural Comedy 
in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For five males and four 
females. Time, two hours. Rural costumes. Scenes rural ex- 
terior and interior. An adventurer obtains a large sum of money 
from a farm house through the intimidation of the farmer's 
niece, whose husband he claims to be. Her escapes from the 
wiles of the villain and his female accomplice are both starting 
and novel. 

A WHITE MOUNTAIN BOY. A Strong Melodrama in 
Five Acts, by Charles Townsend. For seven males and four 
females, and three supers. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. 
One exterior, three interiors. Costumes easy. The hero, a 
country lad, twice saves the life of a banker's daughter, which 
results in their betrothal. A scoundrelly clerk has the banker 
in his power, but the White Mountain boy finds a way to check- 
mate his schemes, saves the banker, and wins the girl. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



Alias Miss Sherlock 

A Drama in Four Acts 



By 
ARTHUR LEWIS TUBES 

Author of "Tht Fingtr of Scorn,'' "Home Ties, 
" Farm Folks, ' " Home Acres," etc. 




PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1922 



/^S 






Copyright 1922 by The Pknn Publishing Company 



Alias Miss Sherlock 



'CI.D L*3256 



M -7 1923 



we I 



Alias Miss Sherlock 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 

(As they are first heard to speak.) 

Lily Ann " Help " at the farm 

Aaron Flint The hired man 

Mrs. Brewster From New York 

Helen Brewster Her daughter 

Leonard Fillmore A young country lawyer 

Sarah Newcomb Sister of Mrs. Brewster 

Dick Brewster. 

Henson A butler 

Ralph Deering. 

Henry Markham A detective 

Officer Higgins. 
Delphine. 



SYNOPSIS 



Act I. — Yard of Miss Newcomb's farm, Brookville, 
N. Y., on an afternoon late in August. 

Act H. — The home of Mrs. Brewster, New York 
City, two weeks later. 

Act III, — An apartment up-town, New York. Two 
more days have elapsed. 

Act IV. — Same as Act II, three weeks later. 

Time of Playing. — Two hours and a half. 



COSTUMES AND CHARACTERISTICS 

Lily Ann. Plain, rather severe-looking and " bossy " 
country woman, of about forty. A likeable char- 
acter, in spite of her brusqueness. In first act 
she wears calico or gingham dress, with apron — 
regular farm " hired girl " get-up, not untidy nor 
too neat. In fourth act, somewhat exaggerated 
" going away " costume of a country bride, but by 
no means grotesque. 

Aaron Flint. Middle-aged farmhand, quaint and 
comical, but not a caricature. In first act, baggy 
old trousers, dark shirt with suspenders, dusty 
boots or shoes and large straw hat. Act IV, 
rather conspicuous new suit, hat, etc., with 
brightly polished new shoes. 

Mrs. Brewster. Handsome, haughty woman of the 
"society climber" type, about fifty or fifty-five; 
stately, with gray hair and attractive face. Ele- 
gant summer costume in first act; afterwards, ap- 
propriate costumes, rich and attractive, with 
jewels, all a bit extravagant but still in good taste. 

Helen Brewster. A girl of about twenty-five, 
" citified " and of beauty and charm, reflecting to 
a degree her mother's pompous manner, but still 
capable of inspiring admiration, and, eventually, 
confidence and sympathy. Dainty dress, with hat 
and parasol, in Act I. Later, elegant house 
dresses. 

Leonard Fillmore. About thirty; tall, well-built, 
good-looking, of a rather free, offhand manner, 
but genial and ingratiating. Just a slight trace of 
" rurahsm," but still a man of refinement and 
culture. Plain suits. 

Sarah Newcomb. A neat, prim, but attractive 
woman of forty-five or thereabouts ; an " old 
maid," but of the sweet, " mother and home " 
variety. Not " green," though ingenuous and just 
a bit " countrified." In last three acts, on occa- 
sion assumes more of " greenness " than is really 



C0STU3IES 

natural to her. Act I, plain summer dress; Acts 
II, III and IV, a little more " dressy," but plain 
and appropriate. 

Dick Brewster. A handsome, boyish young man of 
about twenty-two. Shows some evidence of fast 
living, but should inspire sympathy, pity, and be- 
lief in his innocence. Act I, suit in good city 
style, but with some signs of rough usage. Acts 
II and III, same or similar, but neater. 

Henson. Conventional type of English butler, 
straight, stiff, pompous. Black suit, not neces- 
sarily livery or " evening clothes," but appropriate 
to his position in city house of some social dis- 
tinction. 

Ralph Deering. About fifty-five; wealthy man of 
the world, of " roue " type ; stout, florid, veneer 
of pohsh, but showing his true nature on provoca- 
tion. Very well dressed, with stylish top-coat, 
stick, etc. 

Henry Markham. Stern, keen-eyed man of thirty- 
five or so, in plain business suit. 

Officer Higgins. Police uniform, or plain dark suit. 

Delphine. Young woman of stern, forbidding as- 
pect ; pale ; light eyes, very black hair, somewhat 
incongruous with her natural coloring. Speaks 
with assumed but excellent French " accent." 
Act III, plain black costume, not that of the con- 
ventional stage " maid." Hair plainly combed, 
with no " cap." Act IV, plain street dress, with 
wraps, hat and veil. 



ARGUMENT 

Mrs. Brewster and her daughter Helen are staying on 
the farm of the former's sister, Sarah Newcomb. 
Helen is attracted by Leonard Fillmore, a young 
country lawyer, but her mother tells her she must 
accept the wealthy Mr. Deering. Dick Brewster, 
a likeable boy, for whom his mother has no sym- 
pathy, is implicated in a murder and comes to the 
farm to hide. His Aunt Sarah stands by him in 
his need and they all move to the city in the effort 
to clear his name. Fillmore takes up the case 
because of his love for Helen. Ralph Deering 
calls on Helen and sees Dick there. Deering was 
in the apartment when the murder was committed 
and calls up the police to arrest Dick in revenge 
for Helen's refusal to marry him. Delphine, a 
pretended French maid, figures in the trial, and 
Miss Newcomb feels that she knows more than 
she has told. She, therefore, investigates on her 
own account and Delphine confesses she com- 
mitted the murder unintentionally by trying to 
shoot Deering, the man who wronged her. Dick 
is cleared; Mrs. Brewster is thwarted; and Leon- 
ard and Helen find their happiness. 



NOTICE TO PROFESSIONALS 

This play is published for the free use of strictly 
amateur companies only. Professional actors or 
organizations wishing to produce it, in any form 
or under any title, are forbidden to do so without 
the consent of the author, who may be addressed 
in care of the publishers. 



Alias Miss Sherlock 



ACT I 

SCENE. — The yard of a comfortable farm residence, 
in the northeastern part of New York State. The 
house, R., is an ancient but fine and well-preserved 
structure of the old homestead type. There is a 
porch; windows, with vines; plants, etc.; across 
back of stage a fence, with open gate c. ; at l., a 
small arbor or summer-house , on the edge of an 
orchard. At back a road leading to r. and l., 
beyond fence, and, on flat, the glimpse of rolling 
fields, a church spire and the roofs of a few 
houses scattered in the distance. 

(It is the afternoon of a day in the latter part of 
August. At rise, Aaron Flint is heard whis- 
tling, off L. u. E. Mrs. Brewster is discovered in 
hammock or chair, in arbor, l., asleep, her book 
fallen to the ground.) 

(Enter Aaron Flint, l. u. e., beyond fence, to gate 
c. ; almost at same moment, Lily Ann appears 
on porch of house. Aaron carries several letters, 
sealed, addressed and stamped, a newspaper or 
two and a good-sized parcels-post package of 
books, addressed. Lily Ann comes down to 
R. c.) 

Lily Ann. That the mail, Aaron? Le's see. Quite 
a lot, ain't they? ( She takes letters from him.) 

Aaron Flint. Should say they was. Most all for 
Mis' Brewster, though, 'n' a letter for her daugh- 
ter. Seems t' me 'tain't nothin' but them around 

7 



ALIAS MISS SEEBL09K 



here, one way 'r 'nother. Wonder how much 
longer they're going t' stay. 
LoLY Ann. Land, I d' know. Looks Hke we'd got 
'em saddled onto us for Hfe. Be'n here sence 
June, 'n' here 'tis 'most September. 

{She is closely inspecting the letters.) 

Aaron. 'T 's a wonder t' me Miss Newcomb don't 
git tired o' board'n' 'em for nothin', 'n' havin' 'em 
putt'n' on secli airs 'n' all, even if they are her own 
sister 'n' niece. All-fired cheeky, I call it. 

Lily Ann. Well, you know her — easy as all git-out. 
Guess I'm the one t' do most of the kickin , when 
y' come right down to it — all the extry work they 
make, with coffee took up to their rooms at nine 
in the mornin', " luncheon," as they call it, about 
half-past one, and dinner — a full meal, mind y' — 
at seven at night, when it's 'most time for sensible 
folks to be goin' t' bed. Keeps me up all hours. 
I must say I'm gett'n' pretty tired of it. 

Aaron. I guess you be, 'n' no wonder. But, 's you 
say, Miss Newcomb's that easy she wouldn't say 
a word, if they stayed till Kingdom Come, If 
they ever was a saint on earth, she's one. 

Lily Ann. Well, even saints git imposed on. But I 
suppose, bein' saints, it's up t' them not t' find any 
fault, even when it's rubbed in. For my part, I 
think even a saint ought t' have a little gumption. 
That some more books for her? 

Aaron. Yep. Some more o' them Sherlock Holmes 
detectative stories she's always readin', I reckon. 
Must be four or five here, from the heft o' this 
bundle. 

Lily Ann. Well, it beats all, the amount of that 
trash she does read — them terrible yarns, all about 
murders and mysteries. Land, I should think 
she'd be so full of murder clues 'n' everything 't 
she couldn't sleep nights. They'd give me the 
creeps if I was t' read 'em the way she does. 

Aaron. Oh, I d' know. I sort o' like 'em m'self. 
Miss Newcomb lent me a few and they certainly 
8 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



are hummers. I sure would like t' be one of them 
detectatives they tell about, with all the excite- 
ment they have, tracin' up murderers and sech. 
Lily Ann. Yes, a pretty detective you'd make. 
You'd better be gett'n' along detectin' a few 
chores, instead o' standin' here talkin' murder 
clues. Here, I'll take that bundle in the house 
with these letters. 

{She takes package. They do not notice Mrs. Brew- 
ster, who is still asleep. Aaron gets closer to 
Lily Ann, " making up " to her. She seems un- 
conscious of his intention, about to go to porch. 
He detains her.) 

Aaron. Say, Lily Ann, what y' goin' t' do after sup- 
per? 

Lily Ann. Wash the dishes, I suppose, as usual. 
" Dinner " I guess you mean, though — 'n' a pile 
of dishes it makes, too. Makes me sick! 

Aaron. Say, Lily Ann, if — if I'll wipe 'em, then '11 
you go 'n' take a walk? 

Lily Ann. Walk? Land, I feel more Hke walkin' t' 
bed than anywheres else, once I git through. 
What do I want t' take a walk for? 

Aaron. Wal, I thought mebbe you 'n' me'd jest go 
for a little stroll, if you'd Hke t', seein' it's moon- 
light 'n' all. 'T any rate, looks like it was goin' 
t' be a nice evenin'. 

Lily Ann. I declare, Aaron Flint, you're old enough 
t' have more sense. Gitt'n' sentimental at your 
age. How many times 've I told you 

Aaron. M'm — wal, you know the old sayin', " Them 
that loves last, loves best," so I guess it ain't too 
late for you 'n' me 

{He attempts to kiss her; she gives him a playful slap, 
and starts to go up steps. Mrs. Brewster wakes 
and sees them. They pause, turning, as she 
speaks. ) 

Mrs, Brewster {rising, coming towards c). Per- 

9 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



haps, when you have finished your most unbecom- 
ing behavior, you will inform me whether any of 
those letters are for me. 

Aaron (with an awkward bow of apology). Y-yes, 
ma'am, several of 'em is 

Lily Ann {looking over letters, quite unperturbed). 
I guess some of these are for you, if your name's 
Mis' Brewster. (Holds out letters.) 

(Exit Aaron, l. u. e.) 

Mrs. Brewster (frigidly, as she takes letters). 
Thanks. 

Lily Ann. They look mostly Uke bills, ma'am, seems 
t' me 

Mrs. Brewster. You are entirely too familiar for a 
servant. I shall speak to my sister about it. 

Lily Ann. Huh! I ain't afraid of anything you'll 
say to Miss Newcomb about me. I guess I ain't 
lived with her the past fourteen years without her 
knowin' me well enough not t' let anything you 
could say count, even if you are her own sister — 
and from " the city." I should think, the way 
you've been stayin' here all summer, you 'n' your 
daughter, 'n' been waited on 'n' everything, with- 
out payin' a cent for it, that you wouldn't have so 
very much to say. That's my opinion, 'f I was 
to express it. 

(Lily Ann is on porch, in a " huff." Mrs. Brewster 
has crossed back to l., near seat, almost overcome 
by her indignation.) 

Mrs. Brewster. Oh ! this is more than I can be ex- 
pected to stand 

Lily Ann. Well, then you can set down to it. 
There's a seat, right b'hind you. 

(Mrs. Brewster sinks into chair, apparently about to 
faint. Lily Ann disdains her. Enter r. u. e., 
Helen Brewster and Leonard Fillmore. She 
carries a parasol and a bunch of wild fiotvers. ) 

lO 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK , 



Helen {coming do-mn. Leonard stays up by gate). 
Why, Mother, what's the matter ? Are you ill ? 

(Goes to Mrs. Brewster.) 

Mrs. Brewster. I have been insulted — by that " per- 
son" there, (Indicating Lily Ann.) 

(Leonard looks at Lily Ann with a knowing smile.) 

Lily Ann. Land, I ain't hurt her any. Jest sayin' 
a few things to ease my mind. I guess she'll live 
through it. 

(Exit Lily Ann to house, with a toss of her head and 
an indignant sniff. ) 

Leonard Fillmore (coming down to r. c). You 
mustn't take Lily Ann too seriously, Mrs. Brew- 
ster. She's a privileged character around here, 
you know. 

Mrs. Brewster. I should say she is. It is insuffer- 
able, the way my sister permits that woman to 
domineer and make herself so offensive. I shall 
have her dismissed. 

Leonard. M'm — well, I'm inclined to think even you 
couldn't have that done, Mrs. Brewster. I'm 
sorry if she has been rude, and I'll speak to Miss 
Newcomb about it, but — well, I imagine it would 
be about as easy to dismiss the — er — the pump, 
or — the barn, as Lily Ann. The farm wouldn't 
be complete without her. 

Mrs. Brewster (changing the subject). Helen, I 
should like to know where you have been all this 
time. 

Helen. We have been for a stroll, Mr. Fillmore and 
I. Are any of those letters for me? 

Mrs. Brewster. One. (Gives Helen letter.) 

Leonard. I am afraid it was largely my fault. I 
believe I inveigled Miss Brewster into walking 
rather farther than she otherwise would have 
done. 

Mrs. Brewster. Indeed ! The persuasive powers of 



ALIAS 3IJSS SHERLOCK 



a promising young legal light. How interest- 
ing 

Helen {smiling, with a slight trace of sarcasm'). 
Mother ! — " promising." He has already quite 
" arrived," you know. He was telling me of one 
of his cases. What was it, Mr. Fillmore — de- 
fending a yokel whose cow is accused of infring- 
ing upon another man's property and destroying 
some cabbages? 

Leonard. Yes — quite as important as that. I think 
I shall win my case, too — after a hard judicial 
struggle. And when I do, I shall come and claim 
your congratulations. {At steps.) Now, if you 
will excuse me, I will look for Miss Newcomb. 
I have a little business to transact — and at the 
same time I will speak to her about the offending 
Lily Ann. 

{Exit Leonard to house, with a show of good-natured 
dignity. ) 

Mrs. Brewster. Helen ! I believe he was half laugh- 
ing at us. 

Helen {who is reading her letter). No doubt. 

Mrs. Brewster {again seated, l.). And I should like 
to know what you mean by such a show of in- 
timacy with him — a mere country lawyer. Tak- 
ing a stroll with him, and 

Helen. Oh, well, one has to have a little amusement 
in this forsaken place. Do let me entertain my- 
self in some way. Besides, look what a reward I 
reaped — this beautiful bouquet. 

{Puts flowers in Mrs. Brewster's lap.) 

Mrs. Brewster {throwing flowers to ground). And 
what of me? I hope you don't think I stay here 
from choice? Surely, it is better than shutting 
ourselves up in the city, or going to some cheap 
boarding-house, as we would have had to do. 
You know Bar Harbor or Newport were out of 
the question. Look at these — bills, bills, bills! 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Threats — lawsuits. We dare not go back to Ne-w: 
York, for fear of our creditors. I don't knov? 
what is to become of us ! 

Helen. We can't stay and Hve on Aunt Sarah much 
longer, that's certain. It is becoming unbearable. 

Mrs. Brewster. If we only could have kept up ap- 
pearances one more season, you might have — 
well, something might have turned up. 

Helen {she has gone up by gate; now comes down). 
I suppose you mean I might have sold myself — 
or you might have sold me. Why not say it? I 
am in the market — for the highest bidder. Even 
you are not beyond possibilities, 

Mrs. Brewster, Helen! How can you say such 
things to me, your own mother? I am sure I 
have enough to bear, without that. 

Helen. I guess I am about as desperate as you are, 
for it seems to be up to me. 

Mrs. Brewster. I — ^I don't know why you need put 
it in that vulgar way. But, as you say, we cannot 
stay here much longer. Look at these. (Showing 
bills.) If we go back to New York 

Helen. There's Dick. If only he could do some- 
thing 

Mrs. Brewster. Dick ! You know how much good 
he is to me. I did hope, when he secured that 
position in the bank at forty dollars a week, that 
he might at least cease to be a worry to me. But 
no 

Helen. Nevertheless, he is still your son and my 
brother. 

Mrs. Brewster. Much good such a son is to me. I 
have practically disowned him, — you know it is 
nearly a year since we have even seen him. No, 
we must think of something more reliable than 
Dick, my dear. Now, there was — m'm — Mr. 
Deering 

Helen. Yes — one of the likely bidders. Well, if it 
will be any satisfaction to you, this letter is from 
him. 

Mrs. Brewster. Helen ! — and does he 

13 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Helen. Yes, Mother, I believe you really have a 
chance to sell me at a very good price. 

Mrs. Brewster. Helen! I refuse to listen to such 
talk. You know he is a gentleman — he is worth 
millions, — you should consider yourself a very 
lucky girl. 

Helen. I suppose I am, so far as your idea of luck 
is concerned. But that man — old, gross — the very 
thought of him repels me, 

Mrs. Brewster. Why, Mr. Deering is not more than 
forty-five — well, or eight — or nine, perhaps, — and 
think of all you could command as his wife. But 
the question is, at present, how we are to man- 
age to get back to New York, pay our bills, and 
keep up appearances until it can be brought about. 
I know of just one way — my sister 

Helen. What! — Aunt Sarah — that simple, countri- 
fied old maid ? Pray, what could she do ? 

Mrs. Brewster. She could help us out of all our 
difficulties, if she would. You may not know it, 
my dear, but Sarah Newcomb is rich. At least, 
she must have a great deal of money. When our 
father died, Sarah and I came in for everything 
he had. He had run this farm for many years, 
as his father had before him, and had made 
money, which he invested and increased. When 
he made his will, I chose cash, and, in time, re- 
ceived ten thousand dollars. Sarah kept the farm 
as her share and has rusticated here ever since, 
while I — well, I .went to the city, met your fa- 
ther — married him — and entered upon the life 
that appealed to me. Your father's death left me 

well provided for, but Oh, well, it has all 

vanished, while Sarah, — her money must have ac- 
cumulated and increased. So, you see, my dear 
— she is rich. 

Helen. Well, I must say, it is the last thing I ever 
would have thought of. But even so — do you 
think you could manage it — or her? 

Mrs. Brewster. It would have to be carefully done, 
of course. .By the way, that Mr. Fillmore is 

14 



ALIAS MISS SEEBLOCK 



her legal adviser, I believe. He has charge of all 
her affairs — he'd know just how much she is 
worth, and she would accept his advice. M'm — 
perhaps, after all, you'd better be a bit nice to 
him. 

Helen. You want me to pump him — to exert an in- 
sidious influence, as it were. Oh, very well. 
Leave it to me. He's rather too nice a fellow to 
be made a fool of, even if I can do it, but, as you 
say, something must be done. Anything is better 
than the poorhouse — and oblivion. 

Mrs. Brewster. And, in the meantime, don't forget 
that it would be good policy to keep on the right 
side of all these people — to make as good an im- 
pression as possible 

Helen. Oh, yes, we may as well begin to do the 
thing up right, even if it is rather late in the day. 

Mrs. Brewster. Helen ! sometimes you shock me by 
your absolute vulgarity. Please do not use such 
expressions. We shall do nothing dishonorable. 

Helen. I hope not. But I must say, the very idea 
is repellent to me. I wish it were well over, 

{Enter Lily Ann from house, to porch, her hands 
rolled up in apron.) 

Lily Ann. Say! Miss Newcomb wants t' know 

what you think you'd like t' have for supper — or 

" dinner " I suppose you'd call it. 
Mrs. Brewster. It's very kind of you to consult us. 

Isn't it, Helen? Can you think of anything you 

should like to have, dear? 
Lily Ann. Well, of course this ain't no first-class 

hotel. We ain't got everything. 
Helen. I'm sure, anything Aunt Sarah is kind 

enough to provide will be most acceptable. 

Mrs. Brewster. Yes — of course 

Lily Ann. Land, you're gittin' mighty unp'tic'lar all 

of a sudden, seems t' me. Well, how would a 

good boiled dinner do y' ? 
Mrs. Brewster. I'm afraid I don't know just what 

you mean 

15 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Lily Ann. Huh! I guess you know what a boiled 
dinner is, all right; used t' live here on the farm 
y'rself till you went away t' boardin'-school 'n' 
got in with city folks 'n' their high notions. I 
guess you've et boiled dinners b'fore now. 

Mrs. Brev/ster. Indeed! 

Helen. But I never lived on the farm, you know, 
Lily Ann, so perhaps you will inform me just 
what a " boiled dinner " is. Something boiled, of 
course 

Lily Ann. Sure. Cabbage, turnips, p'tatoes, and so 
forth, boiled in with a nice hunk o' salt pork, part 
lean. It jest touches the spot with us, but — well, 
Miss Newcomb ain't let me have one all summer, 
thinkin' it wouldn't be " stylish " enough for y'. 
But I guess you'd manage to eat it. 

Helen. I am sure it sounds quite alluring. 

Lily Ann. Well, it sounds good and fiUin', anyhow. 
Squash pie goes fine with it — 'n' — as I said to 
Miss Newcomb, " 'F they don't like it, let 'em go 
without." 'T any rate, it's what we're goin' t' 
have, 'cause I got it over. 

(Mrs. Brewster, as if unahle to control herself, has 
gone up by gate, is looking off l. Helen shrugs 
her shoulders good-naturedly. Lily Ann goes to 
door, meeting Leonard, who enters from house. 
He passes her and comes down to R. c. Exit 
Lily Ann to house.) 

Leonard {looking hack at Lily Ann). I hope she 

hasn't been letting out again. I tried to get here 

in time to ward her off, but was talking to Miss 

Newcomb. 
Helen. We have been ordering our dinner, that's 

all. It's to be a " boiled " one — quite a feast, I 

beheve. 
Leonard. Yes, indeed; you have a treat in store — 

one of Lily Ann's boiled dinners. And squash 

pie for dessert, I hope ? 
Helen. Yes, I believe that is to be a part of the 

banquet. {Going part way up c.) Mother, aren't 
i6 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



you going to take a little nap, in preparation for 
such a gastronomical — {Smiling, to Leonard.) — 
is that a good word ? — feast ? 

Mrs. Brewster. No. I napped quite sufficiently this 
afternoon, while you and Mr. Fillmore were tak- 
ing a stroll, and picking wild flowers, I believe. 
(Leonard has crossed to l. ; notices the flowers 
on ground, now glances rather ruefully at them.) 
I wish to go in and see Miss Newcomb — if you 
can spare me for a few moments? 

Leonard. Oh, yes — certainly, 

Helen. Perhaps we will go in the orchard for a 
little while. I just love those early red apples. 

Mrs. Brewster {on steps, about to go in house). 
But, my dear, just before dinner— and such a 
dinner ! 

Helen. Don't worry — only a nibble, you know. 

Mrs. Brewster. Very well. Then I will leave her 
in your care, Mr. Fillmore 

Leonard. Thanks. Trust me. 

Helen {going l., in a slightly coquettish mood). 
Will you come ? 

Leonard. Ask me. 

Helen. I do. But, beware — I might tempt you — 
with an apple, you know 

Leonard. Ch, what a willing Adam am I! {They 
are about to go out l. He surrenders to her 
mood.) But poor Adam had only an apple to 
tempt him, while I — I see a " peach " 

Helen. Oh, Mr, Fillmore, is that worthy of you? — 
a lawyer, too ! 

(Mrs. Brewster has stood on steps, or porch, watch- 
ing them, with a crafty smile. As they exeunt 
L., she turns and is about to go into house, but 
meets Sarah and comes back to c. Enter Sarah 
Newcomb from house, down steps to r. c.) 

Sarah. Oh, here you are, Em? I was looking for 
you. Lily Ann tells me you have ordered a boiled 
dinner. I hope your headache is better, or I am 
afraid 

17 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Mrs. Brewster. It is, thank you. But I ordered 
nothing. It was entirely the maid's suggestion, I 
assure you. I simply thought it best to submit. 
She has pretty much her own way, it strikes me, 

Sarah. Well, I suppose she has, I guess I've let her 
have it so long there's no breaking her of it now. 
Len Fillmore has just been telling me she said 
something that offended you. You mustn't mind 
her, Em, I really couldn't get along without her, 
you know. 

Mrs. Brewster. I am willing to overlook a great 
deal, Sarah, but — she actually had the presump- 
tion to insinuate that Helen and I are imposing 
upon you by remaining here. As if you — my own 
dear sister 

(Wiping eyes, pretending to be near tears.) 

Sarah. The idea! Why, you're welcome to stay 
here as long as you please; you know that. I 
feel honored to think it's good enough for you, 
after all your city grandeur and everything, Lily 
Ann just blurts things out. You mustn't pay any 
attention to her, Em. 

Mrs. Brewster. Well, I'll try not to do so, hereafter. 
But, please don't call me " Em," Sarah. It quite 
annoys me. 

Sarah. Does it? Land, it never occurred to me. I 
can't seem to think of " Emmeline," somehow. 
You see, it sort o' seems just the same to me as 
it did when we was girls here together, and we 
used to always call you " Em " in those days. 
My, but it's a long time since then, isn't it, Em — 
meline ? 

Mrs. Brewster. Quite too long to mention, or even 
think about, I should say. 

Sarah. I don't see why, 'Tain't no disgrace to be 
gett'n' old, as I can see. All the best people are 
doing it, you know. Besides, you ain't more 
than 

Mrs. Brewster. Sarah — please 

Sarah. Oh, well, then I won't. But think how long 

i8 



ALIAS HISS SHERLOCK 



it IS since you were here that other time, when 
Helen was only about four years old and your 
boy was only a baby. What a cute little thing he 
was — your Dick, Emmeline. Why, he must be 
almost a man now, and a real joy to you. 

Mrs. Brewster. A " joy " — my son ! Little you 
know him, or what he is to me — a trial, a tribu- 
lation — I might say even a disgrace. Sometimes 
I think it would have been better had he never 
been born. 

Sarah. Why, Emmeline, what do you mean? I've 
wondered why you never said much about him, 

why you never seemed to want to tell me ■ 

But, Emmeline — your boy — little Dick, your own 
son — how can you say such a thing? 

Mrs. Brewster. Because it is true. Little has he 
ever considered me. He spends what he earns 
on riotous living, in the company of persons who 
are called " fast," and who tempt him to misdeeds 
and forgetfulness of what is honest and upright. 
That is the kind of son I have, Sarah — my " lit- 
tle Dick," as you call him. 

Sarah. Dick — the baby boy I used to hold in these 
arms and cuddle up to me and wish was mine. 
And then, that summer you let him come here 
and stay with me, when he was ten years old — be- 
cause he wasn't very well — the summer that was 
like heaven to me, because I had him — just like he 
was mine — my very own. Oh, how I loved him 
— and he learned to love me, too — and then — I 
had to give him up — let him go — back to you, who 
can say such things about him — that he is a trial 
and a tribulation. Oh, Emmeline — Emmeline 
Brewster — what kind of mother have you been, if 
you have let him grow up to be that kind of man ? 

Mrs. Brewster. I dare say you think I am to blame. 
Little you know of such matters — of the world — 
of life. 

Sarah. Maybe I know more about some things than 
you think I do. 'T any rate, I know enough about 
the world, and life, to know what a real mother 

19 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



ought to be, and that the right kind never would 
talk that way about her own son, no matter what 
he was, or what he had done. " Mother " — you ! 
You never was fit to be one — it wasn't in you. 
Forgive me, Em, but I'm goin' to speak the truth, 
if it does hurt. When you was a girl, it was all 
for dressing up and looking pretty with you — 
goin' away to boarding-school and getting " edu- 
cated," as you called it. Well, you did — there in 
the " real world " you talk about and that you 
say I don't know or understand. Then I thank 
heaven I don't, and I wish you didn't — a world 
that makes a woman so hard that she calls her 
own son a tribulation and a disgrace, instead of 
the blessing he ought to be to her. 
Mrs. Brewster. I refuse to listen to any more of 
your abuse. Even my own sister has no right to 
say such things to me. 

{She crosses, to exit l., but Sarah bars her way; she 
pauses.) 

Sarah. I guess you'll have to listen, Emmeline, for 
I'm going to say what I've got to say. I've had 
it on my mind for some time, and I might as well 
let it out, right now. I thought it was bad enough, 
the way you've let your girl grow up to be proud 
and vain — though I can see she has her soft side 
and might make a good woman, if she had a 
chance — but when you talk that way about your 
boy — about Dick, who was so sweet and cunning 
when he was a baby, and such a manly little fel- 
low when he was only ten years old — why, that's 
more than I can Hsten to and not say something. 
Oh, Emmeline, why wasn't he my boy? Why 
was he given to you, that doesn't care for him, 
instead of to me, who has wanted him and could 
have been a real mother to him, and loved and 
protected him and helped him to be a good, true 
man, instead of what you say he is? It's me that 
has had the mother-feeling in me all these years, 
instead of you, though I'm nothing but a poor 
ao 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



little " old maid," with a soul that has starved for 
what you have neglected and thrown away. 

(Mrs. Brewster has listened, at first disdainfully, 
even angrily, then in a gradually somewhat soft- 
ened mood; she now shows some tenderness for 
her sister, though still obviously thinking of her- 
self and her own advantage.) 

Mrs. Brewster. I — I am sorry, Sarah, if you have 
missed what you think would have been your 
happiness. But my life has been one that you 
could not understand. You have no right to up- 
braid me. Perhaps you have fared better than I 
have, after all. You at least have a home to 
shelter you — enough to live in comfort, even 
luxury, if you wished, the remainder of your life 
— while I am at the end of my resources. Unless 
you help me, I see nothing but ruin — despair — 
ahead. 

Sarah. Why, Emmeline, what do you mean? I 
thought you had a grand home — everything 

Mrs. Brewster. We have been trying to keep up ap- 
pearances, Helen and I. She has prospects of 
marrying a very rich man, if we can manage to 
go back and resume our accustomed way of liv- 
ing for another season, at least. But unless you 
can help me, everything I have must go — house 
— furniture — all. A few thousand dollars, which 
I feel sure you could spare 

Sarah. A few thousand dollars? Land, I never saw 
more than a twenty-dollar bill all at one time in 
my life, as I know of. It was you had the money 
after Father died. If you've used it up and got in 
debt — why, it seems to me that's your fault, not 
mine. 

Mrs. Brewster. Oh, Sarah, I didn't think you could 
be so hard ! So you refuse to help me. You 
would let me starve — your own sister 

Sarah. Well, I guess you won't need to do that, as 
long as I have a home and plenty for you too. 
But of course, if you're so poor, and I'm what 

21 



ALIAS 3nSS SEERLOCK 



you call rich, why — well, — I'll speak to Len Fill- 
more about it. He knows how much I've got and 
everything". I always take his advice. 

Mrs. Brewster. I should think you need not con- 
form to the opinions of a mere country lawyer, 

Sarah. Well, Len may be a " country lawyer," but 
he's a good one, and I reckon they's a few city 
ones he could give a few pointers to, when it 
comes to that. You know, all the smart folks 
don't live in the city. I guess maybe it's so full 
it's run over and a few of 'em have to stay in the 
country. 'T any rate, it's Len Fillmore I'll have 
a talk with, and maybe we can fix things up for 
y'. Do y' know, I've sort of thought I'd like to 
go to the city for a spell myself and see " real 
life," as you call it? If Len thinks I can afford 
it, I might go home with you, set you on your 
feet, and see a little style m'self. Got a room you 
could spare me in that grand mansion of yours? 

Mrs. Brewster. Why, I hadn't thought of that. I 
hardly think you would care for our method of 
living, Sarah, dear. It is so diiferent, you know 
— so — m'm — so 

Sarah. You needn't get fidgetty about it, yet a while. 
I ain't begun t' pack my trunk yet. Now I'll have 
to go in the house and see how Lily Ann's getting 
along with that supper — or " dinner," as you call 
it. {Going to r.) If you see Len Fillmore, you 
might tell him I want to see him before he goes 
home. 

Mrs. Brewster. Very well. 

Sarah {on porch, about to enter house). And, by the 
way, if you want that rich man you spoke about 
to have a chance, it's my opinion you'd better 
keep an eye on that daughter o' yours and that 
" plain country lawyer." Goin' to court's sort of 
in his line, you know, and they do say he's pretty 
good at pleading a case. 

(Exit Sarah to house; Mrs. Brewster looks slightly 
alarmed, starts l., as if to go and seek Helen 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



and Leonard. Enter Aaron, l. u. e., with milk- 
ing pails.) 

Aaron (coming down through gate). Was y' lookin' 
f'r anybuddy, Mis' Brewster? 

Mrs. Brewster. No. 

Aaron. Oh, — thought mebbe y' was, 'n' I was goin' 
t' say 'f 'twas y'r daughter 'n' Len Fillmore, I 
seen 'em out in the orchard there, eat'n' enough 
apples t' give 'em the stummick-ache. Sett'n' 
pretty close t' each other, too, on th' stun-wall. 

Mrs. Brewster. I beg of you, spare me your ple- 
beian observations. 

Aaron. Gosh ! didn't know I had any. Sech hi- 
falutin fixin's ain't in my line. (He crosses to 
R., puts pails on porch, comes back to r. c.) Say, 
ma'am, if y' don't mind, I wish you'd tell me 
somethin'. I'm gitt'n' kind o' tired o' this coun- 
try life. Like t' go to the city and do somethin'. 
Think they's any chanct f'r a feller like me down 
there ? 

Mrs. Brewster. Scarcely. Your place evidently is 
where you are. 

Aaron. Wal, I d' know. Sometimes we country fel- 
lers fool y'. Y' wouldn't think it now, t' look at 
me, thet I've got the makin's of a fust-class de- 
tectative in me, would y'? 

Mrs. Brewster. No. It is the last thing I should 
be willing to believe. 

Aaron. Thet's what I thought. But they is. Yes, 
siree — ma'am. Mis' Newcomb, she gits all them 
books, about crimes 'n' sech, y' know — detectative 
stories — Sherlock Holmes, Ashton-Kirk and all 
them — 'n' sometimes she lets me read 'em. They 
suttinly do give a feller an insight int' the way 
things go there among you city folks. Must be 
a pretty hard lot, come right down to it. 

Mrs. Brewster (about to go out l.). I have no de- 
sire to listen to your opinions. I understand that 
Miss Newcomb is in the habit of reading those 
lurid romances, and I am much surprised that she 

23 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOOK 



should burden her mind with such sensational 

trash. 
Aaron. Oh, she jest dotes on 'em; says the biggest 

men read 'em. Even Len Fillmore. He says they 

help him in his law business. 
Mrs. Brewster. Indeed! I must say, that is about 

the opinion I had of him and his " legal ability." 

{Calling, as she goes off l.) Helen — Helen, 

where are you ? 

{Exit Mrs. Brewster, l. 2 e.) 

Aaron {going to l., calling after her). Better tell 
her 'n' Len t' stop eatin' them apples, 'cause Lily 
Ann says we're goin' t' have a biled dinner, 'n' 
they won't have room for it. (Aaron goes to R., 
takes pails and is about to enter house, when he 
turns, glances off l. u. e., stops, looks, then sets 
down pails and goes up to gate, looking off L., with 
shoiv of interest. Hurries off l. u. e., and, after a 
pause, reenters, leading Dick Brewster by the 
arm. Dick is dusty, pale and almost exhausted.) 
Who be y', 'n' what d' y' want? {Leads Dick l., 
to seat; Dick sinks down; Aaron regards him 
suspiciously.) Why don't y' speak? Sick? 

Dick Brewster. No. Only tired — about played out. 
I — I've walked a long distance, and I haven't had 
anything to eat since — since last night. 

Aaron. Y' ain't? Gosh, I should think you would 
be weak. M'm — y' don't look jest like a tramp. 

Dick {with some spirit). I'm not. You needn't think 
I'm anything like that. I — is this where Miss 
Newcomb lives? 

Aaron. Why, yes — this is her place. You don't 
want t' see her, do y' ? 

Dick. I want to know if Mrs. Brewster is here — 
Mrs. Brewster and — and Miss Brewster. 

Aaron. Oh, you know them, do y'? Yes, they're 
here. I should say they be — hev be'n sence I d' 
know when, 'n' it looks Hke they was goin' t* keep 
right on bein'. 

24 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Dick. I — I want to see Mrs. Brewster — right away. 

Will you tell her, please? 
Aaron. M'm — why, yes, I guess so. {Looks off l.) 

She's out in the orchard there, with her daughter 

'n' Len Fillmore. I see 'em coming, now. 
Dick {rising, almost tottering, starting to go r.). I — 

I don't want to see anybody else — just my — just 

Mrs. Brewster — or Helen 

Aaron. Wal, then, you jest come up here and wait a 

minute and I'll see if I can fix it. (Aaron assists 

Dick off r., beyond house, then returns.) Stay 

right there till I tell y'. 

{Enter Helen and Leonard, l. 2 e.) 

Helen {laughing; evidently forgetting herself for the 
moment and acting with a natural manner of 
good humor). I'm afraid we're in for it. At 
least I am — for a good scolding. I must have 
eaten at least half a dozen of those apples. It's 
all your fault. 

Leonard. Oh, say, — come, now; that's reversing 
Scripture, and will never do. " The woman did 
tempt me," you know. 

Helen. Nothing of the sort. It was the man who 
did the tempting, this time. 

Leonard. All the better, since you yielded. I didn't 
know I had the power. Thanks for the compli- 
ment. 

Helen. You might be welcome, had I intended to 
pay you one ; but I didn't. 

Leonard. Alas, poor Adam! He's bound to get the 
worst of it. Thus does he have another fall — 
from the heights of expectation to the depths of 
despair. 

Helen. My, what an ancient joke — going back to the 
first pair 

Leonard. And the first apple. 

Helen. Oh ! — worse and worse ! 

{Enter Mrs. Brewster l. 2 e., crossing to r.) 

25 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Mrs. Brewster. Helen, I am going to my room, and 
you'd better come too. After your walk — and 
such a feast of apples — I should think you would 
need a Httle rest and quiet before dinner. 

Helen. Very well, Mother, I'll come right in. 

(Helen crosses to r. Leonard goes up c.) 

Leonard. And I think I'll say " Good afternoon." 
Mrs. Brewster. By the way, Mr. Fillmore, Miss 
Newcomb wished me to inform you that she 
would like to see you again for a moment before 
you leave. 
Leonard. Thanks. Then I'll wait. 

{Exit Mrs. Brewster to house.) 

Helen. Yes, you'd better. You might get invited 
to stay and have some of that " biled dinner," you 
know. 

Leonard. That's so, — guess I had. Squash pie, too. 
Umm — the Garden of Eden was nothing Hke this. 

{Exit Helen, to house, followed by Leonard. Enter 
Aaron, r., looks about, then summons Dick, who 
enters and stands by fence, r. c.) 

Aaron. You stay right here. I'll see 'f I can git her. 
(Dick stands leaning on fence, weak, and show- 
ing some agitation. Aaron goes over by porch, 
looks in house, making motions.) She sees me — 
she's comin'. 

(Aaron goes and helps Dick to c, partially conceal- 
ing him, as Helen enters.) 

Helen. Did you want me, Aaron? 
Aaron. M'm — yes, Miss Brewster. They's some- 
buddy here 't wants t' see y'. It's 

Dick {disclosing himself). Helen- ! 

Helen. Dick ! Dick — what are you doing here ? 

Dick. Where's Mother? I — I want to see her 

26 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



(He totters; Helen goes and supports him.) 

Helen. But, Dick, how did you happen to come 
here? We didn't expect you. You are ill — is 
anything the matter ? 

Dick. Yes, lots is the matter. I — I'm in trouble, 
Helen. I 

(He looks about, as if not zvishing to speak before 
Aaron. Helen motions to Aaron, who nods and 
exits R., beyond house, taking pails.) 

Helen. There, we are alone now. Tell me, Dick — 
what is it — what is the trouble ? 

(She has assisted him to seat, l. ; he. sits, she stands 
by him, showing more surprise than tenderness, 
but is not wholly without sympathy.) 

Dick. I've — run away 

Helen. Run away ? But why — from what ? 

Dick. I can't tell you now. I've got to have money, 
that's all. Plenty of it — to get away — out of the 
country. Where's Mother? 

Helen. She couldn't help you, any more than I can. 
What do you mean — what have you done? 

Dick. Never mind that. There isn't time. I'm your 
brother, that's all, and her son, and you've got to 
help me. It's for your sake as well as for mine, 
I guess, if you don't want 

Helen. Oh, Dick, will you never learn to behave 
I yourself — to be a manf Mother is almost des- 

perate already, with ruin staring her in the face, 
and now to have you come here in this condition 
— you, who ought to help her, instead of bring- 
ing disgrace upon her. You ought to be ashamed 
of yourself. 

Dick. And so would you be, if you were any kind of 
a sister, instead of turning on me now, when I'm 

facing (Enter Sarah from house to porch; 

Dick sees her and shrinks down, as if to hide.) 

Who's that ? I don't want to see 

27 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Helen (disclosing him). Aunt Sarah, this is my 
brother 

Sarah (coming down, looking at Dick, at first un- 
coniprehendingly, then with gradual recognition 
and dawning tenderness). You don't mean that 
— that it is Dick — httle Dick? Why, you — if you 
haven't grown up into a man. The last time I 
saw you, you were just a Httle fellow — that was — 
it was twelve years ago, and you were only ten 

years old — and now Why, you're sick — 

something is the matter 

Dick (breaking down). Oh, I can't stand any more 
— I'm played out. I can't go any further. 

(He has tried to rise, but sinks back on to seat. 
Sarah goes to him, sits, puts arm about him, af- 
fectionately. ) 

Sarah. Why, of course you can't — ^you needn't. 

You've got home, Dick. You've come right here, 

where we've been waiting for you and are glad 

to see you 

Dick. Oh, you don't know — you don't know 

Helen. I hope Mother doesn't come. 

Sarah. You go in the house and see that she doesn't. 

I'll talk to Dick and see if I can't find out what's 

the matter. 

(Helen goes l., to steps; Dick starts up, but sinks 
back, as Sarah gently draws him down beside 
her.) 

Dick. But I must see her — I want to tell her 



Sarah. Maybe it would be just as well if you told 
me. I'm your Aunt Sarah, though you've sort 
of forgotten me, haven't you ? But I haven't for- 
gotten you, and — I — I guess maybe it would be 
better if you told me about it first, then we'll 
see 

Dick. You'll help me — to get away 



Sarah (to Helen, who still stands l.). You go, 

28 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Helen, He will be all right. {Exit Helen U, 
to house.) Now, Dick, tell me 

Dick. Oh, I can't — I can't ! I don't know what to 
do. They may be after me by this time 

Sarah. Who? Who is after you? 

Dick. The poHce. They may have found out by this 
time. I didn't do it — I didn't — but they will think 
I did. They'll find out I was there, some way, 
and then — unless I can get away, where they can't 
find me 

Sarah. But tell me about it. What was it — how did 
you happen to come here? 

Dick. Why, I had heard Mother and Helen speak 
of you — and I remembered you, too — about the 
summer I stayed here, so long ago, and how good 
you were to me — and then I thought they — or 
you — could help me in some way. I didn't know 
where else to go. I've got to have money, — she's 
my mother, if I haven't done just right, and she's 
got to help me. Where is she ? I must see her. 

Sarah. Pretty soon, maybe; but tell me first — what 
do they think you have done ? 

Dick. It's murder — that's what they'll say. But I 
didn't do it — no, no, I didn't! It was somebody 
else — but they'll have it on me, if they find out. 
I was there — I was found with the gun — I'm inno- 
cent. But they'd never believe it — I'll have to go 
away 

{He starts up, as if to go. Sarah again detains him.) 

Sarah, But how — where was it — when 

Dick. Never mind. Let me go. It may be too late 
— they may have followed me. Where can I go? 

Sarah. You can't go anywhere. You're in no con- 
dition. You'll have to stay right here, till we 
can fix you up and decide what to do. What I 
want now is, for you to tell me all about it — 
just what happened — what you had to do with it, 
and everything — and if it's possible, I'll help you. 

Dick. You will? You'll give me money — to get 
away? 

29 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Sarah. I don't know about that, but I'll do just the 
best I can. You can trust me, Dick — trust me 
with your very life. 

Dick. It's worth a lot, just to hear somebody talk 
like that — to know somebody believes in me a lit- 
tle bit and wants to help me. It's an old story, — 
the way I've been made a fool of by a woman. 
But I loved her — trusted her — I thought she was 
as good as she was beautiful. She thought I was 
a rich man's son — that was all she cared — and 
then, when she found out I was spending every 
cent I had, just to buy her flowers and suppers 
and — then she tried to throw me over. That made 
me desperate, and one night — three nights ago — 
I insisted on going home with her. She tried to 
get rid of me, but I went, and when we got there 
she told me she had no more use for me — that I 
wasn't worth bothering with. Then I threatened 
her — I'll admit that, though I didn't really mean 
it — I only thought perhaps I could make her 
change her mind. Then another man came — a 
really rich one, I suppose — and she told me to 
get out. I wouldn't, so she made me go in another 
room, behind some curtains — she was afraid he'd 
be jealous, too — and when he came in, he sus- 
pected there was somebody else there, and they 
had a row. I stood looking through the curtains, 
watching them, and all of a sudden 

Sarah. Yes — then — all of a sudden ? 

Dick. There was a shot, and Lora — Miss Navarre 
—fell— dead ! 

Sarah. Dead ! She was killed ? But who — who did 
it ? Dick — not 

Dick. No ! You needn't think I did it. I didn't. I 
don't know who did. All I know is, that I was 
alone, there in that room, behind those curtains, 
and that it was dark in there, so that I couldn't 
see. And I didn't hear any one — but a hand 
reached over my shoulder — there in the dark — 
and fired that shot 

Sarah. Did you — see — the hand ? 

30 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Dick. No. But I felt something — for an instant — 
it just seemed to touch my shoulder — that was all. 

Sarah. But there must have been somebody else 
there — in that room. 

Dick. Yes, when I went in — but I didn't see anyone, 
as there was no light in there. They must have 
been v/aiting there all the time — for her. 

Sarah. And after — after that shot was fired, what 
did you do? 

Dick. Why, at first I just stood there, for a minute, 
I was so frightened and dazed 

Sarah. But that other man that was there with her 
— what did he do? 

Dick. I just caught a glimpse of him — kneeling down 
by her — he held her up a little — and just then 
Miss Navarre's maid rushed in from the hall, 
came across and threw apart the curtains where I 
was, and there on the floor, just by my feet, was 
— the gun! She picked it up, stared at me, and 
cried, " You have killed her ! " 

Sarah. And the man 

Dick. I didn't notice. I don't remember. All I know 
is, that the maid went to the telephone — to call 
up the poHce, I suppose — and before they could 
stop me I rushed out — and got away. Then I 

came here — it was all I could do — and Oh, 

you don't think I did it — you don't believe I'm a 
murderer? You're my aunt — my mother's own 
sister — you won't let them hang me 

Sarah. No, no, Dick — I want to believe you — I want 
to help you, if you are innocent, and I can. 
You're the same as my own boy. I want to save 
you. Look at me, Dick — look me straight in the 
face and tell me, God seeing you and hearing 
every word you say — that you didn't kill that 
woman — you don't know who did. Can you do 
that, Dick? 

Dick. Yes — I can — I do ! {He straightens up, and, 
with a clear, candid expression — finding sudden 
courage and determination — looks her squarely 
in the eyes, and, in slightly wavering, hut honest, 

31 



ALIAS MI8S SHERLOCK 



convincing tones, speaks.) I swear to you, I 
didn't kill that woman — I don't know who did. 
As I hope for eternal salvation — so help me God 
— I am — innocent ! 

(Sarah stands motionless for a moment, one hand 
on each of Dick's shoulders, looking searchingly 
into his eyes, her face showing infinite tenderness 
and pity. His gaze never falters. After an elo- 
quent pause, she suddenly clasps him in her arms, 
holding him closely. He buries his face against 
her shoulder, sobbing gently.) 



CURTAIN 



32 



ACT II 

SCENE. — Parlor or reception-room in the New York 
residence of Mrs. Brewster, handsomely fur- 
nished. An alcove, or hallway, across l. u. e,, 
shows staircase and leads to front door off L. ; 
there is a hallrack in alcove. Door l. 2 e. ; an- 
other in flat R. c, and one r. Table down r. c, 
with few hooks, etc.; smaller table, or stand, up 
R. c, with telephone; also button of electric call- 
bell; davenport, l., chairs, etc. 

{At rise, door-bell is ringing off l. u. e. Enter Hen- 
son r., crosses, exits l. u. e. As he exits, enter 
Mrs. Brewster down stairs, comes down to r. c, 
just in time to receive Ralph Deering, who is 
shown in by Henson. He hands light top-coat, 
hat and cane to Henson, who leaves them on 
rack and exits r. Deering comes down to c.) 

Mrs. Brewster. Mr. Deering — how good of you to 
call so soon ! I am delighted to see you. 

Deering. Delighted to be here, I assure you. Miss 
Brewster was kind enough to write me when you 
were to return, and, you see, I have lost little time 
in coming. 

Mrs. Brewster. And you are a welcome visitor — 
the first we have had. We returned much earlier 
than usual, you know. I had some business to 
attend to, and — well, we were satiated with " rural 
felicity " ; for we were quite in the country, you 
know — on a farm, in fact. 

Deering. Quite a change, I should imagine, from 
former seasons ? 

(They are seated.) 

Mrs. Brewster. Decidedly; but just what we re- 
quired, after a strenuous social season, and very 

33 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



beneficial to both Helen and myself. Neither of 
us felt equal to Bar Harbor or Newport — and 
they have become such an old story, summer after 
summer — so I thought it an excellent opportunity 
to visit my sister, back at our old home. Oh, yes, 
a decided change; quite the thing, however, you 
know — for tired nerves, and all that. 

Deering. But rather irksome, no doubt, after a 
while 

Mrs. Brewster. Terribly so. But, then, it was years 
since I had seen my sister, and I felt guilty, hav- 
ing so long neglected her, so I summoned cour- 
age to go and make her a Httle visit. It did her 
so much good, dear soul, I felt fully rewarded. 
I have brought her home with me. 

Deering. Ah, — for a Httle ghmpse of city life, I 



suppose 



Mrs. Brewster. Yes — her first. I had quite a task, 
persuading her to come. She has always been 
such a home-body — formerly resisted all my im- 
portunities to come and stay with me. Of course, 
she is quite out of her element here. Not that 
she is not a dear — but such a little country mouse 
— so shy, — I am sure you understand. {She rises; 
he does the same.) I will call Helen. She will 
be delighted to see you. 

(Goes up, presses button.) 

Deering. You think so? 

Mrs. Brewster. I am sure of it. (Enter Henson 

R.) Henson, inform Miss Brewster that Mr. 

Deering is here. You will find her in her room. 

(Exit Henson, l. u. e., up the stairs.) 

Deering. I think you understand what my feelings 
are towards your daughter, Mrs. Brewster — at 
least, I hope you will not be displeased if I tell 
you that it is my desire to make her my wife. 

Mrs. Brewster. Nothing could give me greater hap- 
piness. Ah, to be sure of my dear child's future 
— in your care — it would indeed be a blessing. 

34 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Deering. The greater share would be bestowed upon 
me, I am sure. But may I hope — that Miss Brew- 
ster — Helen 

Mrs. 'Brewster. You will meet with no discourage- 
ment in that direction, I am sure. 

{She pauses, as she sees Helen, tvho comes down- 
stairs; Deering also sees her, goes part way up 
C, to meet her. Helen comes down, greets him 
with politeness, hut little show of warmth.) 

Deering. Miss Brewster! — it has been a long 
time 

(Henson comes down-stairs, exits r.) 

Helen. How do you do, Mr. Deering? It is very 
kind of you to call so soon after our return. 

Deering. I was only too glad to have the oppor- 
tunity. In fact, I came up from my country 
place expressly for the purpose of being the first 
to welcome you. 

Mrs. Brewster. How very, very kind of you. Was 
it not, Helen ? 

Helen. Most kind, I am sure. 

Mrs. Brewster {wlio has gone up r.). I hope you 
will stay to dinner, Mr. Deering — and take such 
as we can offer you. Things are not wholly in 
running order yet, but 

Deering. Thank you ; but I scarcely think I shall be 
able to do so, to-day. May I not hope to come 
again — soon ? 

Mrs. Brewster. Indeed — yes; only let us know. 
And now, if you will excuse me 

(He assents; she exits r.) 

Deering. I hear you had a very quiet summer. Miss 
Brewster? Quite in the midst of " rural fehcity." 

Helen. Oh, that is what Mother calls it, is it ? I am 
afraid she would speak m less poetic terms if she 
were to express her real opinion. We were un- 
utterably bored — I thought it never would end. 

35 



ALIAS 3nSfJ SHERLOCK 



Deering. I think I understand. You were not in 
the right setting there — you, who were made for 
big places, for brilHant crowds — regal surround- 
ings — where you can reign as queen 

Helen {smiling, zvith a lift of her eyebrows). Dear 
me, who is getting poetic now? You honor me 
too much. 

Deering. No, no — I could not do that. {He gets 
close to her, speaking zvith a warmth of feeling 
which repels her, though she means to encourage 
him; in spite of herself, however, slightly draw- 
ing away.) You know my feelings for you — this 
is not the first time I have tried to express them. 
Miss Brewster — Helen — tell me I don't hope in 
vain — that I may make you the happiest woman 
in the world. 

Helen. Ah, — that is a pretty big order. Do you 
think you could fill it ? 

Deering. Only let me try. I can give you all that a 
woman can wish — a beautiful home, gorgeous 
clothes, jewels — you shall have everything that 
money can buy. You shall lead them all — have 
what you will — do what you choose 

Helen {somewhat cynically). I am afraid it takes 
more than all that to make a woman happy, Mr. 
Deering — some women. 

Deering. But devotion — love — all my heart 

Helen. And isn't that what you would expect in re- 
turn — love, devotion ? And if I could not 

give them? 

Deering. You could give yourself — your radiant, 
beautiful self. That is what I want — you, you ! 

{He is about to take her in his arms; she shows at first 
some shrinking, but makes an effort to yield — is 
about to do so, when the door-bell rings. This 
gives her the opportunity to turn from him; he is 
compelled to release her, with some annoyance. 
Enter Henson, r., crosses, exits l. u. e.) 

Helen. Will you go in the library? I will join you 
there. 

36 



ALIAS mSS SHERLOCK 



Deering {again approaching her, but she goes part 
way up c, he desists, goes k.). Very well. I 
will wait for you there — anxiously. Don't be 
long 

Helen. No. I will come to you — at once. 

(Exit Deering, r. Helen shudders slightly, with evi- 
dent reptdsion and relief at his absence. She is 
R. c. Enter Henson, l. u. e.) 

Henson. Mr. Fillmore. 

(Helen's attitude changes; her expression brightens, 
denoting pleasure, zvhich she is unable to con- 
ceal. ) 

Helen. You may show him in, Henson. {Exit 
Henson, l. u. e. Helen stands looking up 
L. u. E. expectantly. For the moment she becomes 
her natural self, greeting Leonard Fillmore cor- 
dially when he appears. Enter Leonard Fill- 
more, L. u. E., followed by Henson, who exits r. ) 
Mr. Fillmore — this is quite a surprise ! How 
do you do? 

Leonard. Fine, thanks — and feeling better still — 
now. Needn't ask how you are — you're looking 
scrumptious. 

Helen. My ! — all of that ? M'm — well, apples agree 
with me, you know. 

Leonard. And " biled dinners " — squash pie ? Say, 
the farm lost all its charm after you left. Excuse 
me — I guess there's no law against paying a few 
compliments — I'm a lawyer, and I know, you see 
— if a fellow means 'em. With you and Miss 
Newcomb both gone — well, it was too much for 
me. 

Helen. One cannot imagine the farm without Aunt 
Sarah. How glad she will be to see you ! 

Leonard. I suppose she will. How is she? 

Helen. She's well. A bit homesick though, I fear — 
but brave, as I also try to be. But it's hard, with 

37 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



all we have on our minds — and trying to keep it 
from Mother. 

Leonard. So she doesn't know yet? 

Helen. No. I want to keep it from her as long as 
possible. She has enough to bear. Oh, Mr. Fill- 
more, what is going to happen? Do you think 
they will find my brother — convict him? I can- 
not think of it — I dare not 

Leonard, We're going to do everything there is to be 
done for him, and I feel it in my bones every- 
thing'll come out all right. Why, I don't see how 
Fate itself could defeat such a spirit as your Aunt 
Sarah shows — she's just bound to save her " boy," 
as she calls him — and, in spite of all obstacles, I 
feel that she'll do it — and I mean to help. Just 
you leave it to us — and try to look on the bright 
side. I can't bear to see you worry 

Helen. You are very kind. You do help me — you 
make me feel better 

Leonard. Do I? That's great. — M'm — if I — well, 
I'd like to feel better, too — if you'd just say the 
word. I know I haven't the right to ask it — just 
a plain, country lawyer like me — but — you're not 
mad, are you? 

Helen. Mad? Why, of course not. How could I 
be? Besides, being poor is no disgrace — and as 
for " plain," — well, there might be two opinions 
about that. 

Leonard (impulsively; forgetting himself). Miss — 
er — Helen 

Helen (suddenly realizing that she is encouraging 
him too much; changing her mood — repulsing 
him, though not too pronouncedly). But Dick — 
you haven't told me. What about him? Where 
is he? 

Leonard. That's right. We have no right to think 
of other things now. But you — you see, I sort of 

forgot, and Why, he's here. I brought him 

with me. 

Helen. Here ? 

Leonard, Yes; we stayed there in Brookville nearly 

38 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



a week, you know, after you all left, and then I 
decided the only thing to do was to bring him 
here, have him give himself up, and stand the 
chances. Miss Newcomb thought so, too. 

Helen, But if they convict him 

Leonard. Well, there doesn't seem to be much use 
running away. He wants to — thinks they'd never 
find him — but they always do, and it would be all 
the worse when they did — they'd hold it against 
him — that he was afraid 

Helen. Afraid? Of course he's afraid — so am I — 
afraid of the horror, the disgrace ! Oh, it seems 
too terrible to be true. How can I ever bear it? 

Leonard. Oh, say now, don't give way like that. I 
can't bear to see you, you know. I 

Helen {looking l. u. e.). Is he — there? 

Leonard. Yes. Your man remembered him, it 
seems 

Helen. Henson? Yes, he has been with us for 
years 

Leonard. And he's keeping him out there for the 
present. Do you want to see him? 

Helen. No. Not yet. I can't. I have a caller. 
He is waiting for me, in the library. 

Leonard. M'm — oh, a " he " caller ! 

Helen. Yes, and a very important " he." So I must 
ask you to excuse me. But I will have Henson 
tell Aunt Sarah you are here. 

(Goes up; is about to press button.) 

Leonard. Oh — all right ; and then, after a while, will 
you — er — have him inform you that / am still 
here? 

Helen. Perhaps. If I can get rid of that other 
" he." 

(She smiles, not wholly able to conceal her real feel- 
ings for him; he looks relieved.) 

Leonard. Thanks. 

(Enter Henson, l. u. e.) 
39 



ALIAS MISS SHEBLOOK 

Helen. Henson, tell Miss Newcomb that Mr. Fill- 
more is here. You will find her in her room, I 
think — the blue room. 

{Exit Henson upstairs.) 

Leonard. " Blue " room ? Pretty appropriate, seems 
to me. Kind of in that state myself, unless you 
change it. 

(Helen ignores this remark, though she looks back 
with a faint smile as she exits, r. Leonard looks 
after her, adoringly; goes up r., then comes hack, 
shaking his head doubtfully, hut with an expres- 
sion of determination. Enter Henson, coming 
down stairs; part way to c.) 

Henson. Miss Newcomb will be right down, sir. 
(About to go, lingers.) Beg pardon, sir, but — 
Master Dick. He looks very down — and sick 
like. Is anything the matter, may I ask, sir? 

Leonard. Why, I guess he isn't just feeling his best. 

Henson. No, sir; that's how it struck me, sir. I 
hope you will pardon me, if I seem too familiar, 
but Master Dick always was a favorite of mine, 
and I've wondered often, without daring to men- 
tion it, what had become of him, so to speak, and 
how he was. He's been absent for the greater 
part of a year, if I remember rightly. 

Leonard. Yes. He's been away, I believe. You 
say Miss Newcomb will be right down? 

Henson. Yes, sir ; to be sure, sir. I beg pardon. 

(Exit Henson, l. u. e. Leonard stands down r., by 
taj)le, not seeing Sarah, as she conies down-stairs, 
enters l. u. e. ; sees him, with a pleased expres- 
sion; comes down, stands close to him a moment, 
before she speaks.) 

Sarah, Well ! 

Leonard (starts, slightly; turns, sees her, speaks in an 
assumed matter-of-fact manner). Fair to mid- 
40 



ALIAS 3IISS SHERLOCK 



dling, ma'am, — and hope I see you the same; — 
lirst-class, I mean. How — are — you? 

Sarah {as they shake hands, warmly). Oh, Len, it's 
good for sore eyes to see you ! I've been waiting 
and hoping and praying, expectin' you every min- 
ute — and, now you're here, I declare, I could al- 
most hug y' ! 

Leonard. Why — almost? Make it a real one. 

Sarah. Oh, Len, I've almost died here, this last week 
with six or eight months in it. It's been ter- 
rible 

Leonard. Pshaw ! that'll never do. I thought you 
were the brave one. It won't do for you to give 
up. 

Sarah. No, of course, and I don't mean to; but — • 
well, it's the lonesomeness of it. I'm Hke a cat in 
a strange garret, and as homesick as anything — 
at least, I suppose that's what the feeUng is I've 
got here — and here — and oh, all over me. But 
sit down, Len, and tell me — everything. 

{They sit.) 

Leonard {speaking rapidly, pretending to misunder- 
stand her). Well, when I left, the brindle cow 
was beginning to wean her calf, the pigs were 
fatter 'n ever and just fit to kill — Aaron Flint 
seemed to be getting along a little better in a cer- 
tain direction — I guess their being left there alone 
sort of softens the obdurate lady — and — anything 
else? 

Sarah. Leonard Fillmore! You know it isn't all 
that I want to know. Of course, it's that, too — 
and I'm glad if Lily Ann has begun to give in a 
little, though goodness knows it's time — but it's 
my boy, Len — Dick! — how is he — where is he — 
and 

Leonard. Oh, he's well and safe and not far off. 
But first I want to hear about you. How do aou 
like it here? 

Sarah. Oh, as well as could be expected, I suppose 
— me, in this hif alutin place ! But I've wished I 

41 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



was back home, every minute. Such foolishness 
— such extravagance ! 

Leonard. Well, it was your own doings — you would 
do it, you know 

Sarah. Yes, I know, and I'm not sorry as I know of. 
But it's something terrible, the v/ay Em has lived 
and got into debt, trying to " keep up appear- 
ances," as she calls it. It's simply scandalous — a 
" butler " and everything. Land, he's the stiffest 
thing in the shape of a man I ever did see. I was 
fairly afraid of him at first, the way he puffed 
himself up and said "Yes, Madam," "No, 
Madam," and " Madam this " and " Madam that," 
till I up and told him I wa'n't a " Madam " and 
had no desire to be, and wouldn't he please just 
call me Miss Newcomb. I'm beginning to get a 
little bit used to him now, and to a few other 
things, but, I declare — I guess the farm's the place 
for me. 

Leonard. Nonsense, I'd trust you with the best of 
them. They can't make a fool of you. 

Sarah. Too late, maybe. But mebbe it'd be just as 
well to let some folks think they can. 

Leonard. Who — why 

Sarah. Well, some of the city folks, the kind that 
think us from the country are all as green as 
grass. Mebbe I can get the best of some of 'em 
and find out a few things all the easier, if I let 
'em think I don't know a street-car from a steam- 
boat. Not but what I do, and I guess I can see 
through a barn door when it's wide open 

Leonard (laughing). Well, I should say you can! 

Sarah. But if some of the big-bug detectives and all, 
that are trying to find Dick and prove he's — what 
they'll say he is — think I'm but a poor, simple lit- 
tle old maid from the country, why, I guess it'll 
make the way all the clearer for me when I try to 
show 'em a thing or two. 

Leonard. Well, now, I don't knov^ but there's some- 
thing in that. 

Sarah. I'm here to save my boy — and it's any means 

42 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



to that end. You know how crazy I've always 
been about reading those detective stories, Len — 
murder mysteries and such — " trash," you call 
'em? 

Leonard. Why, yes, — I guess you've read a hundred. 

Sarah. Say seven hundred and you'll be nearer to it. 
Well, I'm glad I have. They've sort of given me 
an insight into things — clues and such. I feel as 
if I could beat the best detective in New York 
City at his own game. I'd like the chance — and 
maybe I'll have it before we get through. 

Leonard. I guess you'll find it a hard job, Miss New- 
comb. They're a slick lot, and I'm afraid in this 
instance they'll have it pretty much their own 
way. To tell the truth, I don't see a loophole as 
yet. 

Sarah. But there must be one, Len — there's got to 
be. There always is. In all those detective 
stories, the one you're sure did it and that evei-y- 
thing's against, never did. It's when they come 
up against a blank wall and you think there's no 
way around, through, or over, that a way opens 
up, after all. And there will this time, Len — 
there must. 

Leonard. I hope so. But don't you think you need 
a bigger man than I am to help you. Miss New- 
comb? I'm only a country lawyer, after all, you 
know, without much experience 

Sarah. Now, see here, Len Fillmore, don't you begin 
that all over again. You know my opinion, and 
that ends it. If you're not what they call " a big 
man " yet, you're going to be, and maybe this is 
your chance to prove it. I want you to show 'em 
what you can do, — you and me together — in spite 
of the best of 'em. They may think we are two 
greenies from the country and as easy as pie. 
Well, let 'em think so — till we open their eyes 
and show 'em a thing or two. 

Leonard {giving her his hand). We will. Put it 
there. 

Sarah. That's the way to talk. Go ahead, don't 

43 



ALIAS MISS SHEBLOCK 



leave a stone unturned, till we've overthrown that 
stone wall we're up against. I'm back of you 
with all I've got — to my last cent — all I can beg, 
borrow or — I was going to say " steal," and I d' 
know but I'd do even that to save Dick. But 
where is he? Can't I see him? 

Leonard. Sure, He's right here. 

Sarah. Here, — in this house ! — and you haven't told 
me, all this time? {Going up, looking off l. u. e., 
excited. ) Where is he ? I want to see him ! 

Leonard. And so you shall. But I want to be sure 
his mother doesn't know he is here. Helen — Miss 
Brewster — thinks it best for her not to know 
about it, yet. 

Sarah. There's no danger. She's gone to her room 
and won't come down till dinner's ready, prob- 
ably. Where is Helen ? Have you seen her ? 

Leonard. M'm — why, she just went in what they call 
the library, to see a caller — a " he " one. 

Sarah. Oh, I suppose it's that rich Mr. Deering her 
mother's trying to catch for her. She can't en- 
dure him and I know it — since she saw a certain 
other " he " I could mention 

Leonard. Miss Newcomb, — you're on the wrong 
scent. There isn't a chance in the world for 



me 



Sarah. Who said anything about you? I guess 
there's more than two " he's " in the world. 'T 
any rate, she ain't good enough for you — vain, 
stuck-up thing ! 

Leonard. No, — she isn't that ! You wrong her. 

Sarah. Oh ! stickin' up for her, are you ? Sure sign. 
Guess you can't fool me. I've read too many 
detective stories, you know, not to see a clue when 
it's laying around loose, and I found a pretty good 
one sometime ago, in that direction. 

Leonard. But don't you think you're up against an- 
other stone wall? 

Sarah. Well, if I am, I'm pretty good at climbing 
over — and I might give you a boost, if necessary. 

Leonard. Thanks. I guess I'll need it. {He has 

44 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



gone up to l. u, e. ; she is close to him.) And 
now I'll get Dick. 

(Exit Leonard, l, u. e. Sarah stands, looks off, 
anxiously. There is a short pause, then Dick 
enters l. u. e., cautiously, looking about, as if 
afraid. He looks much neater than in first act, 
hut is still pale, shozving signs of his fear and 
worry. Sarah welcomes him joyously, taking 
him in her arms, in silence. He brightens a bit 
as he sees her.) 

Sarah (after a moment's pause). Dick — my boy — 
my poor boy ! 

Dick. Is nobody else here — Mother — Helen ? 

Sarah. Not now. You can see Helen in a few min- 
utes, maybe. I don't know about your mother. 
She doesn't know yet, and — but we'll see. Just 
now I want you to talk to me a little. (She has 
led him to davenport, l. ; sits by his side. ) How 
are you, Dick? Keeping up bravely? 

Dick. I'm trying to, Aunt Sarah, but it's hard. It's 
been almost more than I could stand. If it wasn't 
for you — and Mr. Fillmore — I guess I'd end it all. 
I couldn't face it alone. I don't know as I can, 
anyway. There doesn't seem to be a chance for 
me — not a chance. 

Sarah. Why, yes, there is, Dick. There's always a 
chance. I believe in you — so does he — and there's 
sure to be some way of proving your innocence. 
We're going to find it, too, and save you. Aren't 
we, Len? 

(Leonard has been standing r., not listening to them; 
he has looked off r. in a manner that shows he is 
thinking of Helen and her companion. He now 
turns, comes to c.) 

Leonard. Sure, Of course we are. 

Dick. You say that, but if you meant it — if you 

really wanted to save me — you'd let me get away. 

You wouldn't ask me to stay here and face it — 

45 



ALIAS 3IISS SHERLOCK 



no, nor you either, Aunt Sarah. I tell you I 
can't 

{He springs up, as if to go; Sarah detains him.) 

Sarah. Dick — my boy ! 

Leonard. There, there ; you'll be all right. You 
must listen to reason. 

Dick. Reason — reason ! You call it " reason " for 
me to stay here and give myself up — without a 
chance in the world ! I tell you, they've got it on 
me. But if I don't give myself up, they'll never 
find me. They can't. They don't know my name 
— or anything. I'll be safe, if you'll only let me 
go away. 

Sarah. Are you sure they don't — any of 'em, know? 

Dick. No, — of course they don't. Miss Navarre 
was the only one. The maid never saw me be- 
fore, nor that man. I got aWay before anybody 
else came. I tell you they haven't a chance in the 
world. Let me go ! You will — you must ! You 
don't want me to stay here and get hanged — for 
what I never did? You can't make me do that — 
you can't ! 

{He breaks down, sinking on couch and covering face 
with hands. Sarah sits by him, striving to com- 
fort him.) 

Leonard. You're sure nobody knows that it was you 
in that woman's room when she was killed — not 
the man, nor the maid? 

Dick. No. Neither of them ever saw me before. I 
used to meet Miss Navarre at the stage door and 
take her out to supper — but that night was the 
first time she ever let me go home with her. She 
didn't want to, then, but I went. So, you see, her 
maid never had seen me, and as for that man who 
was there — he was a perfect stranger to me. 

Leonard. If that's so — why, the police haven't a 
thing to go by — no name — no picture. So long 

as neither of those two sees you 

46 



ALIAS MISS SBERLOCK 



Sarah. But would you want him to run away? 

Leonard. If we believe him innocent, and that is his 
only chance — as it seems to be — I don't know but 
it would be the best thing for him to do. 

Dick. Yes, yes, — of course it is. That's what I've 
been trying to tell you all along, only you wouldn't 
listen to me. If I go away somewhere, it'll be all 
right. But if they find out who I am, and catch 
me — I tell you everything is dead against me un- 
less you let me go away. You will — won't you? 
Don't you see. Aunt Sarah ? — it's my only chance ! 

Sarah. There must be some way of finding out the 
truth. You are innocent, Dick — I believe that — 
and I mean to go to work and prove it 

Dick. But if you couldn't — if you failed 

Leonard. Yes, Miss Newcomb, we've got to think of 
that — if you failed. And I'm afraid the chances 
are that you would. I've been looking into the 
matter thoroughly, trying to see what defense we 
could put up, and I must confess it looks pretty 
dubious. The police say all they have to do is to 
find their man — they've put their machine to work 
to find him — and it's more than likely they'll suc- 
ceed, if Dick stays here, 

Dick. When can I go — to-night — now? 

Sarah. Oh, not to-night — you can't go to-night, 
Dick! You must stay here till to-morrow morn- 
ing, then Mr. Fillmore can see that you get away 
— if that's what's best, and I don't know but it is. 
You must be saved, Dick,— some way. 

Dick. But I can't wait — I'm afraid 

Leonard. He's right. He must go to-night. You 
keep him here for an hour or so, Miss Newcomb, 
and in the meantime I'll go and get some things 
ready — buy a ticket — and then come back for 
him. But where to — where shall he go? 

Sarah. Why not to the farm ? Lily Ann and Aaron 
would look after him. 

Leonard. No, not yet ; they might trace him there — 
through his mother — they do all sorts of unlikely 
things, you know. He'll have to go farther away 

47 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



— say to the West. I'll buy a ticket. He can 
leave late to-night. 
Dick. Yes — I know — I can do it 

(He braces up, looking more hopeful, rising. Leon- 
ard starts up L.) 

Sarah. All right. Just as you say, Len. You go 
and make the arrangements. I'll take Dick up to 
my room. Nobody will see him there. But I 
suppose we'd better tell Helen ? 

Leonard. Yes, it would be best to let her know. We 
can still keep it from his mother. (Leonard goes 
up, about to exit, but pauses, looks off r.) They 
are coming — Miss Brewster and 

(Dick starts to go; Sarah holds him, then leads him 
to L. 2 E.) 

Sarah. Here — come in here — till he goes — then I'll 
get you up-stairs. 

{Exeunt Sarah and Dick, l. 2 e. Leonard glances 
R., then goes up, gets hat and coat, exits l. u. e. 
Enter Helen and Deering, r. She seems sonie- 
ivhat disturbed; he shows evidence of anger and 
chagrin. ) 

Deering. Do you mean to say that this is your final 

answer — you refuse me? 
Helen. Yes. I cannot be your wife, Mr. Deering, — 

I don't love you. 
Deering. But if I am willing to wait — to run the 

chance of being able to win your love? 
Helen. Love does not come like that. I 

{Hesitates meaningly.) 

Deering. I see. You don't think I am fit 

Helen. It is sufficient that I say I do not care to be 

your wife. 
Deering. It was not so long ago^not many weeks, 
or days — since you seemed rather inclined to con- 
sider the transaction. Perhaps you have met the 
48 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



man whom you can " regard " — I think I imder- 
stand. 

Helen. I cannot help what you think. There is no 
more to be said. (Starts r., about to go out.) 

Deering. You may change your mind — a woman 
does sometimes, you know. If so — you may find 
the — the proposition — still open. 

Helen. No. Please — you will excuse me. {She 
turns from him, rings hell, then goes up r. After 
slight pause, enter Henson, l. u. e.) The gentle- 
man's hat and coat, please, Henson. 

{She hows coolly, and exits r. Deering stands look- 
ing after her, resentment, then anger, with a 
mean, vindictive expression dawning upon his 
face. Then he smiles derisively, stops, listens, 
and goes and looks off l. 2 e. ; stands looking off, 
with growing interest. Henson has gone out 
L. u. E., now returns with Deering's hat and coat; 
stands up l., waiting.) 

Deering. Look. Who is that in there? 

Henson {coming down, looking off l.). You mean, 

sir 

Deering. There — the young man — talking to Miss 

Newcomb and the others. 
Henson. That, sir? Why, that's Mr. Richard. 
Deering. You mean Mrs. Brewster's son — Miss 

Helen's brother? 
Henson. Why, yes, sir. 
Deering. I — see. That will do. Thank you. You 

— needn't wait. 
Henson. Very well, sir. 

{Exit Henson, r. Deering is still looking off l., 
with renewed interest, which becomes repressed 
excitement, with something of exultation. He 
pauses a moment, then, with a gloating smile, goes 
up and takes up telephone receiver.) 

Deering. Hello — hello! Give me PoHce Headquar- 
ters. Yes, the Bureau of Police. The Chief of 

49 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Police. At once, please. {Waits feverishly; 
there is an appreciable pause, then he speaks 
again, mith tones that thrill zviih tense impa- 
tience.) Yes — yes. Is this Police Headquarters? 
Yes, the Chief — it is most important. {There is 
another pause, during which, holding the receiver 
to his ear, Deering glances towards l. with a look 
of vengeful triumph.) Hello! Is this the Chief 
of Police? All right. {Sufficient pause between 
speeches.) Never mind who this is. You are 
looking for the man who killed Miss Navarre — 
Lora Navarre, the actress — about two weeks ago ? 
Well, his name is Brewster — Richard Brewster. 
You will find him at his home, 176 Ellington 
Avenue. Yes, Ellington — 176. He is there now. 
But lose no time — send at once — or it will be too 
late. 

{He hangs up receiver, takes coat and hat, glances 
once more towards l. 2 e., with a smile of wicked 
satisfaction, tosses his head slightly, knowingly, 
and exits quickly, l. u. e.) 



CWRTAiN 



ACT III 

SCENE. — Parlor of a small apartment, up-town. New 
York; well, but not elaborately furnished. There 
is a door r., leading to a small entry, with another 
door, beyond, to hall; door, or narrow archway 
L., with thick draperies, parted in centre. Tele- 
phone, etc. Discover Dick Brewster seated c. ; 
he is ghastly pale, looking exhausted, his head 
drooping, eyes nearly closed, hands hanging limply 
over sides of chair. He has just been put through 
the " third degree " and is almost a mental and 
physical zvreck. He is muttering, in a final gasp 
of denial to the demands that he " confess." 
Henry Markham, the detective, stands at his 
left, looking sternly down at him; Higgins, an 
officer, in uniform, r. c, somewhat back. 

Dick {shaking head slowly and speaking in wavering 
tones). No — no — I didn't — I didn't do it 

Markham {sternly, seising his shoulder, shaking him 
roughly). Come now, stop that faking. You've 
got life enough in you, if you wanted to show it. 
You can't fool me. The sooner you make a clean 
breast of this thing, the better it'll be for you. 

Dick. No, no — I can't 

Markham. You stood behind those curtains and 
fired the shot that killed that woman — the woman 
that threw you over — and we can prove it. If 
you own up to it, and tell us all about it, so we 
know what your provocation was, — why, then 
you'll get some mercy. But if you don't 

(Dick still shakes his head, weakly, murmuring a 
refusal. ) 

Officer Higgins. Plucky little guy, ain't he, boss? 
Don't look as if you'd 

51 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



(The door-hell rings, r.) 

Markham. That'll do for you — no remarks from the 
gallery. See who that is, and whoever 'tis, tell 
'em they can't come in. 

{Enter, l., Delphine, the French maid. Without 
looking to right or left, she goes to r. to open 
door, but HiGGiNS is ahead of her. He opens 
door, goes into entry. Delphine goes hack to l., 
exits, hut stands behind curtains, peering through, 
listening. Markham sees her, glances in her di- 
rection and she disappears, pulling curtains to- 
gether. HiGGiNS enters R., cautiously holding 
door slightly open.) 

HiGGiNS. It's that young lawyer-feller — Fillmore 

Markham. D' know what right he has here. Tell 
him he can't come in. 

(HiGGiNS is about to go out r. when the door is pushed 
open and Leonard enters, thrusting him aside. 
He is followed by Sarah, who at once sees Dick 
and goes to him, kneeling by his side, in spite of 
Markham, who is too surprised to prevent her.) 

Sarah. Dick — oh, Dick, what have they been doing 
to you? Dick, I am here — your Aunt Sarah. 
Look at me, Dick. Dick ! 

(Dick falls over, lifelessly, into her arms; she fondles 
him. ) 

Markham. What's all this ? Where did this woman 
come from? She has no right here — nor you, 
either. {Addressing Leonard.) 

Leonard. I d' know. No law against coming in, I 
guess, seeing we rang the bell and somebody 
opened the door. Anyhow, we're here. 

Markham. So I see, and I'd like to know what it 
means. How'd you find out? It wasn't given 
out, down to Headquarters, I reckon? 

Leonard. I found out, though, it seems. I heard 

52 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



you were going to put this boy through your vil- 
lainous " third degree," and I would have man- 
aged to prevent it, some way, if I'd known it in 
time 

Markham. Oh, you would ? Think you've got a lot 
of influence, don't you? Well, maybe you have, 
back in that jay-burg where you come from. But 
I guess you can't very well upset the whole New 
York Police Department and the Detective Force. 
We haven't got through with this young fellow 
yet, and you won't find it wise to interfere. 

Sarah {placing Dick's head against hack of chair and 
springing up, facing Markham boldly). Well, 
I'll interfere ! I won't let you torture this poor 
boy any more. Look at him — what shape he's in. 

It's wicked — shameful How can you do it? 

It's cruel, it isn't fair ! 

Markham. Excuse me, Madam, but I guess we 
know our business and what's right and fair, 
without any advice from anybody. We brought 
this young fellow here, where he committed that 
crime, to make him confess — and if he knows 
what's best for him, he'll do it. 

Sarah. Confess! Confess — to something he never 
did? No, never — he shan't do that. You can't 
make him do it 

Leonard. I wouldn't interfere. Miss Newcomb, if I 
were you. {To Markham.) I don't beheve you 
want to do anything unjust — m'm — inadvisable, I 
mean. You must see that my client is in no con- 
dition to stand any more. It looks like you'd put 
him through a pretty severe ordeal already. Give 
the poor boy a chance. 

Markham. Huh !— yes, he had a chance, all right — a 
chance to skip, with your help, it seems, if we 
hadn't had a tip and been a little too quick for 
you. We got there just in time, it seems, to catch 
the bird almost on the wing. What kind o' busi- 
ness you call that — for a " lawyer " — helpin' a 
murderer to escape ? 

Leonard. We believe the boy to be innocent. I am 

53 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 

his attorney — I wanted time to look up evidence — 
to prepare a defense. 

Markham. To get him away, you mean — ^because 
you know there ain't a chance for him. Well, 
you see — you didn't do it. {Seizes hold of Dick, 
trying to make him rise.) Come — come along, — 
you needn't try any more o' that pretendin'. I 
know all about that 

Sarah. What — what are you going to do with him? 

Markham. Going to finish our job, of course. You 
don't think we ever give up, do you? Guess not. 
We got jest a little more to say to this chap, just 
as soon as you'll be so obligin' as to leave. Beg 
pardon, Madam, f'r seemin' impolite, but business 
is business and duty's duty 

S\RAH. But can't you see he isn't able to stand any 
more? Look at him — he's nothing but a poor, 
weak, scared boy 

Markham. I guess I know what he is, all right. 
You'll have to stand aside, Madam. (Sarah has 
sunk down by chair, holding Dick in her arms, 
as if to shield him. Markham starts to take hold 
of him. Leonard, who stands r. c, looks on, as 
if doubtful just what to do. Higgins comes 
down, stands near Markham, l. c.) Come — you 
might as well get up — I got a few things to say to 
you yet 

Leonard. See here, Mr. Markham, don't you think 
you could call it off — for the present ? 

Markham. I know when it's time to call things off. 
What I want you t' do is to take this lady and get 
out. This is serious business, and we're losing 
time, 

Leonard. Very well; I suppose we must submit. 
{Patting Dick on back.) Brace up, my boy — 
don't give in. We will have to go now, but we 
shan't forget you a minute — remember that. 

Dick {reaching up his hand, which Leonard grasps). 
Thanks. I know. I'll — try 

Leonard {dropping Dick's hand, taking Sarah by 
arm, assisting Iter to rise). Come, Miss New- 

54 



ALIAS 3IISS SHERLOCK 



comb, we'll have to go now, I'm sorry, but we'll 
have to, I guess. 

Sarah {once more appealing to Markham). Oh, 
sir, won't you stop trying to make him say what 
he never means to say — unless you drive him to 
the point where he doesn't know it? He's not a 
murderer — that boy. Look at him, — can't you 
tell he isn't that kind? Promise me, if we go, 
you'll let him alone, for to-night anyway, and take 
him back and let him have some sleep. Why, he's 
all played out — just a wreck. 

Markham. I know what t' do, Madam — ^you leave it 
to me 

Sarah. I'm not " Madam "—I'm just Miss New- 
comb, from the country, where folks have hearts 
and give them that are in trouble a chance, instead 
of kicking 'em and grinding 'em down and never 
givin' 'em a fair show. I'm this boy's aunt — his 
mother's sister — and I love him as much as his 
own mother ever did — I guess more — and I want 
to help him. Won't you do what I ask — let 
him 

Markham. Excuse me, 'tain't no use your talking, 
Madam — or " Miss " — because I've got orders 
and I'm going to carry 'em out. We came here 
for a purpose and we're going to stick to it ; so 
the sooner you get out of the way, the better it'll 
be for all concerned. 

Sarah {standing over Dick, her hand on his shoul- 
der). Then you'll have to carry me away, for 
I'm here and I won't budge a step 

Leonard. Miss Newcomb — — 

Markham. See here, ma'am, this won't do. It's all 
fooHshness, us losing time this way. You step 
aside and let us do our duty. 

Sarah. Is it your " duty " to crush the very life out 
of this poor boy? Well, then it's my duty to 
stand between him and you and protect him, and 
I mean to do it as long as there's a mite of 
strength left in my body. 

Markham {seizing hold of her arm). See here — I've 

55 



ALIAS MISS SEEBLQOK 



had enough of this. Either you step aside, or I'll 

place you under arrest. 
Leonard. Mr. Markham ! 
Markham. That's what I said. What do you think 

I am ? She's interfering with the law 

(Sarah wrenches herself free from his grasp, facing 
him defiantly; for a moment he seems too taken 
aback to interrupt her.) 

Sarah. You talk about the law, that the Hkes of you 
are chosen to enforce — you — ^you who are not 
men, but great, ravenous beasts, looking for some- 
thing to tear to pieces and devour. You want a 
victim. What do you care if it is a poor, weak 
boy, who hasn't the strength to defend himself? 
It's all the better for you, all the easier! It's 
somebody for you to shake and choke and grind 
under your heel, till they haven't life enough left 
to do anything but give up. What if he is inno- 
cent — you don't think of that, — all you want is to 
show that you represent the " law " — to hold your 
jobs and prove what great detectives you are 

Markham. Madam — you'd better 

(He approaches her, menacingly ; Leonard also makes 
an attempt to silence her, but she thrusts them 
both aside, still assailing Markham.) 

Sarah. " Law " ! Don't you know there's a law of 
pity and mercy and justice, as well as one of 
might and terror — the kind that puts folks behind 
prison bars and hangs 'em — maybe for something 
they never did? Is it " justice " to try to prove a 
person committed a crime, and never try to prove 
they didn't? Why don't you look for something 
that might help this poor boy, instead of saying 
he's guilty and letting it go at that ? " Proofs " — 
you say you have proofs — but you don't mean to 
let him prove that you're wrong. You don't want 
him to — you're afraid he will, — even if you saw a 
chance to save him, you wouldn't take it, 'cause 
56 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



then you'd have to go to work all over again. 

All you want is a victim — some one to hang. 
Well, you shan't have my boy — you shan't — ^you 
shan't! 

(^She finally gives up, partly exhausted; again sinks 
down on floor by Dick, shielding him, still looking 
up at Markham defiantly, though with wavering 
strength. He has stood looking at her, at first 
angrily, then dumbfounded, finally with a half 
good-natured expression. He now shakes his 
head, murmurs.) 

Markham. Well, I'll be 

Leonard {to Markham, in a conciliatory tone). 
She'll be all right, Mr. Markham, if you'll just let 
me 

Markham. Oh, — all right; go ahead. I guess we 
won't bother any more to-day. 

Leonard. You mean you'll call it off ? 

Markham. Yes, I guess so — for the present. 

Leonard {to Sarah, helping her to rise). Miss New- 
comb — it will be all right now. Mr. Markham 
says they won't carry it any further to-day. 

Sarah {in a sort of daze — to Markham). You mean 
—you'll let him rest — sleep? 

Markham. Yes, I guess we can fix it. It's getting 
late, and — see here, Higgins, we'll take him back 
now and postpone this business till to-mor- 
row 

(Markham and officer are r. c, somewhat hack; 
Leonard, r. ; Sarah and Dick, c, she with arm 
about him.) 

Sarah. Do you hear, Dick? They're going to let 
you have some rest now. It'll be all right. You 
try to be brave, and don't forget I'm not giving up 
for a minute. 

Dick {with a show of better courage). I will. Aunt 
Sarah. I'm going to brace up and make the best 
of it. I didn't mean to give way like that, but I 
couldn't help it — they drove me to it 

57 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Sarah. I know, Dick, boy, — I know. Come now, 
you'll have to go; but keep up your courage and 
we'll save you yet, you see if we don't. 

(She leads him up; he goes zvith the officer, with an 
attempt at hraveness, smiling faintly at Sarah, as 
she kisses him, with a pat on the shoulder. The 
officer takes him out r., followed by Makkham, 
who shakes his head slightly, as if it were all too 
much for him. Leonard lingers.) 

Leonard. Well — I must say! 

Sarah. No you mustn't. You needn't say a word. 
I know what you think, but I ain't crazy, and I 
wouldn't care if I was — I got the best of that de- 
tective and gave him a piece of my mind that I 
hope he won't forget 

Leonard. Well, I should say you did — a pretty gen- 
erous piece. But I'm afraid you have a wrong 
idea as to what you did to him. 

Sarah. But I made him give up. You think he'll 
keep his word, don't you? 

Leonard. Oh, yes, so far as that goes. But I don't 
see as we've gained much, except a brief respite 
for Dick. Of course, that's something — but we 
might as well face the facts. We haven't found 
a clue yet — not a thing to refute their evidence. 
Not even who gave them that tip which upset all 
our plans. That certainly was a blow. 

Sarah. Yes. I almost gave up for a while. It cer- 
tainly is a mystery. Somebody knows — somebody 
who has an object in causing Dick's arrest. But 
who — who ? 

Leonard. He declares nobody knew his name but 
Miss Navarre — nobody else saw him there except 
those two — the man and this French maid, Del — 
what-ever-her-name-is. 

Sarah. Then it was one of them that notified the 
poHce. But how did they know? You haven't 
found out who the man was ? 

Leonard. No. There seems to have been a lot of 
them. 

58 



ALIAS 3IISS SHERLOCK 



Sarah. My, she must have been one of them " vam- 
pire " things it tells about in some of those detec- 
tive stories — the kind they have in the movies. 
Poor thing, maybe her fate was no more than she 
deserved. But to say that Dick Len, some- 
thing's got to be done. For one thing, I'm going 
to stay here and talk to that French woman. I 
may be able to get something out of her. 

Leonard. I doubt it. She seems to have told all she 
knows. The police say her story hangs together. 
No, we can't get away from it — everything points 
to young Brewster. 

Sarah. But points wrong — I know it. There's some- 
thing strange about all this, I mean, something 
we haven't even got an inkling of yet. Len, I 
want you to go away and leave me. I want to 
look around a little — and talk to that woman. 

Leonard. I don't see the use. The police have ex- 
amined everything here. So have L 

Sarah. Yes, I know; the police have, and you have 
— but I haven't. I may think I'm too smart, 
Len, but it won't do any hurt for me to try. 
Something's got to be done. We are right up 
against that blank wall, and I'm going to make a 
desperate effort to find a loose stone in it. There 
must be a hole in it somewhere, if it's only a 
chink — and I shan't give up till I see at least a 
speck of light shinin' through. 

Leonard. Well, I suppose, being a woman, you'll 
have to have your own way, 

Sarah. You ought to know that, by this time. So I 
want you to go and leave me here for a while. 

Leonard. M'm — I don't know about that — not so 
sure it would be safe 

Sarah. Pshaw! I guess I can take care of myself. 
Of course, you can wait down-stairs for me, if 
you want to. You might come up — say in fifteen 
minutes or so, and see if I'm still alive — or need 
any help, 

Leonard, Well, I suppose — if you say so 

Sarah. I do. So supposing you vanish. I want a 

59 



ALIAS 3nSS SHERLOCK 



chance to look around and take things in. There 
may be a clue here somewhere, just waitin' for me 
to pick it up, and maybe I can beat the great 
Markham at his own game. 'T any rate, I'll feel 
better satisfied to try. 

Leonard {at door, r.). Very well. There's the tele- 
phone. I'll be down in the office. If you need 
me, 'phone down, and I'll come right up. Other- 
wise, I'll wait fifteen minutes 

Sarah. Or twenty. You needn't be in such an aw- 
ful hurry. 

Leonard. Oh, all right— take your time. Only re- 
member — there's the telephone — and be care- 
ful 

Sarah. Oh, go on. I know what to do. {Exit 
Leonard, r. Sarah goes and closes door after 
him; stands for a moment, knob in hand, looking 
about; then comes to c, stands gazing around, to 
R., to L., up, down; goes about, examining every- 
thing closely. She does not appear to notice the 
curtains across door l., but, gradually working 
her way in that direction, suddenly flings them 
apart, disclosing Delphine, who has been watch- 
ing her.) Come right in. I was just goin' to call 
you. 

Delphine {entering, a bit confused, but still self- 
possessed). Oui, Madame, I — I was about to en- 
quire if I could be of assistance 

Sarah. That's very kind of you. Seem real anxious, 
don't y' ? 

Delphine. Anx-i-ous? Oh, oui — certainment, Ma- 
dame 

Sarah. You've got it a little different from the rest 
of 'em, haven't you? I suppose that's French — 
" W-dani " — meaning the same as just plain 
" Madam " in New York language. Well, I ain't 
either of 'em. I'm just Miss — plain " Miss New- 
comb." 

Delphine. I see — Ma-dam-oiselle 

Sarah. M' — "dam" — "sell"? Land, sounds like 
swearin', don't it? I always heard you French 
60 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



women wa'n't very partic'lar how you talked. 
Come all the way from France, did you? 

Delphine. Oh, oui — a ver' long time ago. Since I 
am quite petite. 

Sarah. So? Must feel quite at home here by this 
time. Kind o' strange you still jabber French- 
talk. Seems so you might know all " United 
States " by this time. 

Delphine. Oh, — but always I am of my own lan- 
guage so fond. I do not so much seek to speak 
the Anglaise. 

Sarah. I see — " to memory dear," as the old song 
says. Well, anyway, supposing we sit down for 
a while and have a little talk. I'd kind o' like to 
ask you a few things, if you don't mind. 

Dei^phine. So — certainment — if Madame wish. But 
I will stand. To sit also, with Madame, would 
not be — what you say ? — " the thing " — so ? 

Sarah. I suppose maybe it wouldn't, if that's the 
way you look at it. Still working here, are you? 

Delphine. I stay — for a time. Ah, my poor mis- 
tress — Mademoiselle Navarre ! ( Wiping her 
eyes, appearing grief -stricken.) Far-don, but it 
is so terreeble — such " shock," as you say. I 
have not yet of myself the control. She was so 
kind — I am of her so fond 

Sarah. How long had you worked for her? 

Delphine. Oh, not for so long a time, T'ree month 
— maybe four — I am with her; I cannot now just 
remember. Almost she treat me as a friend, my 
poor, poor mistress, who have been so cruelly 
murdered by that — Mistaire Brewstaire 

Sarah. Stop — don't say that. He's my nephew — 
and no murderer. Oh, I know, they say he is — 
you may think he did it — but I don't, and all the 
detectives in New York and the whole police de- 
partment to boot, couldn't make me believe it. 

Delphine. I beg of Madame the par-don. I mean 
not to offend — but — it is so plain— there can be 
no doubt. What I see, I see; what I know, I 
know. 

6x 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Sarah. Well — sometimes folks think they see more'n 
they do, and don't know quite so much as they 
think they do. {Rising, looking about.) Do you 
mind sort of pointing out just what you did see — 
what happened here, that day that your mistress 
was — killed? You didn't see it done, did you? 

Delphine. Ah, but, yes — almost it was the same. I 
heard — I saw — her, poor Miss Navarre, lying — 
there, — oh, so cruelly murdered — lying In a Uttle 
pool of — of blood — her blood! And then — 
then {She pauses, shuddering.) 

Sarah. But ain't you getting a Httle ahead of your 
story ? First you say you " heard." Heard what 
— a pistol go off ? 

Delphine. Go — offf Oh, oui — it make the bang- 
noise — so, — just as I come up in the elevator and 
get off here, at this floor 

Sarah. So you didn't come on home with Miss Na- 
varre that day? 

Delphine. No. Seldom I would do that. Always 
she would have some friend — some zshentleman 
— who would take her out — to suppaire — escort 
her home, I am to stay at the theatre — in the 
dressing-room, to put away her costumes — to ar- 
range everything, you know. I come later — by 
and by — when I am through. That is how. But 
seldom it is that I come with her. 

Sarah. She had quite a lot of gentleman friends, 
didn't she? 

Delphine. Oh, — oui — it was many ; she was so popu- 
laire. That day, it seems it was the young man — 
Mr. — Brewstaire — as you say, your, how is it? 

Sarah. My nephew. 

Delphine. Oui. But I did not know him — nevaire 
would she tell me the names. It is sometimes the 
one, sometimes it is anothaire. I ask no ques- 
tions — I know my place. 

Sarah. You had never seen my nephew — Mr. Brew- 
ster — before that day? 

Delphine. No, nevaire had I seen him until I enter 
— after the shot — find my mistress dead — run 
62 



ALIAS SIISS SHERLOCK 

here — to this door — put aside these curtains — 
so, — and there — there stand the young man — your 
Mr. Brewstaire. His eyes bulge, his face is of 
the crazy-look, and there — there on the floor — 
right by him, — I see — the peestol — with which he 
had just fired the shot that kill my mistress ! 

(Delphine is holding back the curtains, looking 
zuithin the room, off l. Sarah stands near her, 
looking at same spot.) 

Sarah. The pistol laid — right there. 

Delphine. Oui. I peek it up. 

Sarah. Oh, you picked it up? And looked at it? 

Delphine. Oh, oui — then I think — it is too horrible 

— I drop it 

Sarah. In the same spot? 

Delphine. Oui. In the same spot — right there — 

you see? 
Sarah. Yes, I see. M'm — and in the meantime, 

what else happened? Where was Dick? 
Delphine. Ah, but he escape. I am so excite — he 

go, queek — there — (points r.) and disappear. I 

am at the telephone. When again I look, he is — 

gone. 
Sarah. What about that other man that was here — 

what became of him? 

Delphine. Then — why, he also — he is gone 

Sarah. Oh, he skipped too? Where did he go? 
Delphine. I do not see. When I have call the po- 

leece, I am alone. Alone with her — my mistress 

— dead ! 
Sarah. But it seems that man showed up afterwards. 

They have his testimony. 
Delphine. But then it is too late — the murderer, he 

is gone. 
Sarah. Yes, whoever it was — not the one you think. 

But we won't argue that question now. I want to 

look around a little. I'll see what this room looks 

like. (Exit Sarah, l. Delphine holds back 

curtain, looking in at her. Sarah calls from 

within.) Where does this door go to? 

63 



ALIAS 3JISS SHERLOCK 



Delphine. The door? Oh, that door, it lead to the 
dining-room — then it is the kitchen-" ette," as 
they say. 

{There is a slight pause; Delphine drops curtain, 
comes to C, looking toward l., showing some an- 
noyance — scozvls, with a vindictive expression. 
Sarah enters; holds curtain aside, looking back 
off I..) 

Sarah. There's just that one door. You say it leads 

into the dining-room — and on into the kitchen. 
Delphine. Though the kitchen we seldom use. 

When we have the meals here, it is the caterer 

that would come in. 
Sarah. Oh, that was the way? You never did the 

cooking ? 
Delphine. I? — cook? But no — nevaire! I am not 

the cook — Mon Dieu — no ! 
Sarah. I don't see what you're staying here all this 

time for, anyway. No work for you to do ; — not 

getting any pay, are you? 
Delphine. But my mistress, already she have paid 

me — in advance — and the apartment, also for 

some time it is paid. The poleece, they say I 

shall stay, for the present, till they have been here 

sometimes 

Sarah. Yes, and brought that poor boy to torture 

him. But don't you get lonesome here — feel kind 

of — m'm — sort of "creepy" like? 
Delphine. " Creepy "-Hke ? I do not know. It is 

the strange word — but I need not to creep 

Sarah. Well, never mind. Only I wondered. Now, 

let me see — couldn't somebody have come in 

through that door in there, and — done it? 
Delphine. But it is not posseeble. The door always 

it is locked. 
Sarah. Locked! — that door, between that room and 

the dining-room? That's funny. Why? 
Delphine. No — the other door, beyond — the one 

that opens to the hall — the other entrance. You 

see ? Always that is locked. Nobody could come 

64 



ALIAS MISS SBERLOCK 



in. Besides, Mr. Brewstaire, he was there — in 
this room — he see nobody. It is he that say so. 
He was alone — quite — when I come. The door — 
beyond — I find it still locked. 

Sarah {puzded — looking about, thinking deeply). 
M'm — and — that other man who was here, — the 
one who skipped out too, — you don't know who 
he was? 

Delphine. But no, as I have told Madame. I be- 
lieve some friend of Miss Navarre who also come 
that day for the first time here. She know him 
as so jealous — is afraid, — she tell Mr. Brewstaire 
to hide — there — and then, when he suspect, they 
quarrel, perhaps, and then, from there, behind the 
curtain, — Mr. Brewstaire — wild— jealous, too, of 
the other one — crazy with the angaire — he 

Sarah. Oh, that's how you figure it out, is it ? Well, 
there may have been somebody in there, crazy 
and wild with " the angaire," — but you needn't 
tell me you have named the right person. I know 
better 

Delphine. Madame! — is it that you would say I do 
not tell all — that it is not true, what I have said? 
But it is — what you call? — "corroborate." The 
poleece — they believe. 

Sarah. Of course they do. They'll believe anything 
that suits their side. You won't catch them try- 
ing to make it look any other way. 

Delphine. But what does Madame think ? 

Sarah. I don't think — I know that it wasn't Dick 
Brewster that shot that woman — no matter if 
everybody else in the world says he did. But to 
prove I'm right— that's another thing. You'd Uke 
to help me, wouldn't you ? 

Delphine. I ? But I cannot. It is not that I would 
not, but — but what I know, it is. Of course — I 
sympathize. {Beginning to tire of the interview.) 
Now, if Madame would care to go? 

Sarah. Thanks, but I'm in no hurry. Guess I'll stay 
a while longer. {Sits l. c.) But you needn't 
wait. I know the way out. 

65 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Delphine (goes to d. l.). And if Madame should 
wish for me — she will call? 

Sarah. Yes. But, say, I wish you'd call me " Miss." 
I hate that " Msi-dam " business. 

Delphine. Oh, certainment — " Mees." 

Sarah. Thanks. That's more like it — just " Miss 
Newcomb." It makes me feel Hke a dressmaker, 
or a woman that tells fortunes or fixes finger- 
nails, to be called " Madam " all the time. {She 
sits in deep thought, seeming not to notice Del- 
phine, who is about to exit l. She looks to- 
zvards door r., and speaks, just as Delphine parts 
curtains l. and is about to exit.) M'm — by the 

way — that door, there (Pointing to R.) 

There's another one, and a little entry between, 
isn't there? 

Delphine (coming part way back, to l. c). En — 
tree ? Oh — oui — vestibule. 

Sarah. Yes, if that's what you call it. (She goes r., 
opens door, looking out.) That door — the one 
into the hall — that's kept locked, I suppose? 

Delphine. Oui — always it is locked. It is the 
spring-lock. 

Sarah. Then It was locked that day — of the — that 
it happened ? 

Delphine. Certainment. 

Sarah. But you burst right in, after you heard that 
shot? Had a key, I suppose? 

Delphine. Why, of course. Miss Navarre, — I, — 
both, we have the key. 

Sarah. The same one? 

Delphine. No, no, — each we have one. 

Sarah. Then when you got off the elevator — just as 
you heard the shot — you unlocked the door and 
rushed right in? (Delphine makes assent.) I 
see. And when you came in, you saw Miss Na- 
varre there — on the floor 

Delphine. Yes, yes ; — as I have said. My poor mis- 
tress ! 

Sarah. "Yes, yes"? You mean "oui, oui," don't 
y'? Well, anyway — you rushed right across this 
66 



ALIAS MISS SffERLOCE 



room and pulled aside those curtains How 

did you know there was anybody behind 'em ? 
Delphine. But I have heard the shot — I look — I see 

a hand — a face — there, in the curtains. I look — 

it is he 

Sarah. M'm — it didn't take you long to unlock the 

door and get in, after you got off the elevator, 

did it ? Had the key all ready, I suppose ? 
Delphine. Why, of course. It is so easy — it take 

but a second 

Sarah. Of course. That's just one of my foolish 

questions. But I'd like to see the key. 
Delphine. The key? It is nothing — just a key. 
Sarah. I know. But I'm sort o' curious. Just like 

to look at it, if it ain't too much trouble. 
Delphine. It is strange, — ^but of course It is 

in my bag. I will get it. 

(^Exit Delphine l. Sarah has closed door r. ; comes 
to c, stands, squinting her eyes, with a keen, sus- 
picious look, after Delphine — seems to be " put- 
ting two and two together." After slight pause, 
enter Delphine l.) 

Sarah. That it ? 

Delphine {indicating Yale key — one of two, tied to- 
gether) . This 

Sarah {taking keys, examining one indicated). Yes, 
and — er- — what's this other one? 

Delphine. The other one? Oh — why, it is that we 
have two. 

Sarah. Sure. Of course. So if you should lose one. 

Delphine. As one might — so easily — you see? 

Sarah. Sure — easy as anything. I've lost things my- 
self, lots of times — keys, too. But it seems kind 
o' funny to have 'em tied together like this. If 
you lose one, you lose both. Then how'd you get 
in? 

{She has placed one key on top of the other, compar- 
ing and examining them closely, feeling of nicks 
in them.) 

67 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Delphine. It is not that I keep them so. I have just 

tie them — since 

Sarah. Oh — I see. Of course, — now you've got the 

other one — the one that — she — had ? 
Delphine {somewhat relieved), Oui. 
Sarah. Why, of course; if you lose these, you have 

that one now. All very plain. You say these are 

both to that door. {Indicating door r.) 
Delphine. Oui — both. 

{She holds out her hand to take keys; Sarah is about 
to give them to her, when the door-hell rings, r., 
and she keeps them.) 

Sarah. There — that's Len Fillmore. He said he'd 

come up after me. {Starts to door.) 
Delphine. I 

{Is about to open door r., hut Sarah intercepts her.) 

Sarah. Never mind. I'll let him in, 

Delphine. But, Madame — pardon — it is my 
place 

Sarah. Land, I guess I've been to doors! {She is 
too quick for Delphine, opens door and quickly 
goes out, pulling door shut behind her. Delphine 
seems annoyed; after pause, opens door cau- 
tiously, peering out. Sarah outside.) All right, 
Len ; go right in. 

(Delphine closes door, quickly goes to c, just as 
Leonard enters r.) 

Leonard. Oh, you're here, are you, Del-" peen " ? 

Delphine. Del-" phine," Monsieur. 

Leonard. Oh, yes — " phine." New one on me. 

French, isn't it? 
Delphine. Oh, — oui. 
Leonard. Nice name all right. Suits you. 
Delphine. Merci. 
Leonard. Mercy? Oh, yes, that means "much 

obhged." You're welcome. Nice name — nice 
68 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



girl. You were Miss Navarre's maid, I under- 
stand ? 

Delphine. Oui ; I am her maid. 

Leonard. Am? Oh, I see — that's your way of say- 
ing " was." Sort of a hired girl you were, I 



suppose 



Delphine. I know not that — " hired girl." If it is 

the servant that you mean — non! 
Leonard. Well, yovi're a girl, and you got paid — 

guess it's about the same thing. But I suppose 

you didn't do much housework? 
Delphine. Monsieur would " joke " with me. I beg 

to be excuse. {About to exit l.) 
Leonard. Pshaw, you needn't get mad about it. 

You and Miss Newcomb been having quite a chat 

here, haven't you ? 
Delphine. Oh, indeed — much. It is that she is so 

— inquisi-teev. 
Leonard. You mustn't mind her. She means all 

right. {Looking r.) I wonder if she's got lost. 

Guess I'd better look. 
Delphine {at door r.). I will see. 

{She is about to open door when Sarah enters.) 

Sarah. Ready, Len? 

Leonard. Well, I should say. You? 

Sarah. Yes, all ready — now. Guess you think it'i 
about time. {Looking about, in search of some- 
thing — in bag, tJien on floor.) I declare, I've lost 
my handkerchief. Must have dropped it. {To 
Delphine.) Maybe it's in that room there. 
Would you mind looking? 

Delphine. Non. Certainment. 

{Exit Delphine l. ; the curtains are closed.) 

Sarah {glancing l., then going and looking through 
curtains; closing them, coming back, speaking 
cautipusly to Leonard). Len 

Leonard. Yes ? 

69 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Sarah. Sh! (Glancing l.) You know that stone 

wall? 
Leonard. The blank one? Yes. 

Sarah. Well, — there is a chink in it — a hole 

Leonard. A 

Sarah. And it's a — " key "-hole. (Going r., about to 

exit; he follows her, curiously.) Yes, Len, a 

keyhole. And I think I've got the key — that — 

fits it! 

{Exit Sarah d. r. ; Leonard, at door, holding it part 
way open, looks out after her, with wrinkled 
brows; then smiles indulgently. Exit Leonard 
R. At same instant, enter Delphine l.) 

Delphine. I did not find (She looks surprised 

— puzzled — hastens to d. r., just as Leonard 
closes it behind him. She opens it — calls.) 
Madame ! — the — key! 

(The outer door is heard to slam. Delphine stands 
with knob of inner door in her hand, looking out. 
A perplexed expression, then one of apprehension 
— fright — dawns upon her face.) 



curtain 



70 



ACT IV 

SCENE. — The same as Act II, about three weeks 
later. Discover Aaron Flint, standing up by l. 
u. E., with cheap suitcase in one hand, a rolled-up 
umbrella in the other; his hat on, pushed back. 
Lily Ann is part way down c. She wears hat, 
coat, etc., has hand-bag and a good-sized package 
of brown paper, ivell tied with string. They are 
both looking at Henson, who is posed in L, u. e., 
in his most pompous attitude. 

Aaron. Wal, I guess you can tell Miss Newcomb 
we're here, can't y'? Should think you might do 
that much t' obUge. She's stayin' here, ain't she ? 
(Henson gives a stiff bow, in assent.) Wal, 
then, can't y' go 'n' tell her 

Lily Ann. Aaron, you keep still — and take y'r hat 
off. Where's your manners? (Aaron removes 
hat, sheepishly, murmuring, "Oh!") I s'posed, 
seein' you let us in, that mebbe you worked here, 
but if I've made a mistake, I beg your pardon 

Henson. I am the butler 

Aaron. Any relation to Sam Butler, up in Warren 
County ? 

Lily Ann. Land, Aaron Flint, ain't you got a bit o' 
sense? He means he's a waiter 

Aaron. Oh, that's it? Then mebbe he's wait'n' for 
a tip. (Feeling in pockets; Henson shows of- 
fended dignity.) That's the way they all be, 
down this way. Won't budge an inch, 'nless y' 
tip 'em. 

Henson. If you will present me with your cards 

(He has card-tray, which he now holds out. Aaron 
places a coin on it. Henson pays no attention to 
this, though assuming an even more pompous 
manner.) 

71 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Lily Ann. Land, we ain't got no cards. We ain't 
that stylish. I guess it'll be all right if you just 
go and tell her some friends of hers are here. 

Henson. What name, please? 

Lily Ann. Newcomb — Sarah Newcomb. 

Henson. Pardon me — the names I am to announce. 

Lily Ann. Oh — you mean our names. Never mind, 
jest tell her what I said — some friends of hers. 
We want to s'prise her. 

(Henson turns, and, in a most dignified manner, goes 
upstairs. ) 

Aaron {going to foot of stairs, looking up after him). 
Wal, I'll be gum-swizzled, if he ain't the dam- 
dest ! Thought mebbe 'twas the King of Egypt 'r 
somebuddy here makin' 'em a visit. 

Lily Ann. Yes, of course you had t' go and show 
your greenness. Land, I should think you'd know 
what a " butler " is, after all them story books 
you've read. It's only another name for hired 
man, same as you. 

Aaron. Me? Like that? Gosh ! strangle me ! Seems 
t' me you didn't know much more about it 
'n' I did, though, when it comes t' that. Guess 
if I'm green, you're a pretty good match f'r me. 
(They have come part way down; Aaron has 
placed grip, etc., at one side. Both go about, 
examining furniture, pictures, etc.) Got it fixed 
up pretty swell here, ain't they? Guess this is 
what y'd call style. 

Lily Ann. Yes — the kind o' style Mis' Brewster 'n' 
her daughter keep up, 'n' then come 'n' live on 
Miss Newcomb all summer. I guess if the truth 
was known, she's putt'n' up for some o' this too — 
though she never lets on. I know her. 'Tis 
pretty grand, though. Ain't nothin' in Brookville 
like it — even at the hotel. 

Aaron. D' know's we'll know how t' act 

Lily Ann. Huh ! They can't scare me with their 
hifalutin things and stuck-up ways. I'm as good 
as they are, when it comes to that — and you 
72 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



needn't go to apologizin', Aaron Flint. Hold y'r 
head up, and act as if you was good as anybuddy. 

Aaron. Gosh ! I never could act 's if I was such a 
big-bug as that butler feller 

Lily Ann. The idea — him ! Sh ! Here she comes. 

(Sarah appears at top of stairs. They see her and 
draw back to one side, so that she does not see 
them, as she comes down, enters and to c. They 
then approach her, one on each side. Henson 
comes down-stairs ; exits r. Sarah turns, sees 
them — in utter bewilderment, almost unable to 
speak.) 

Sarah. Why — if it isn't — it can't be 

Lily Ann. But it is, Miss Newcomb — it's us. We've 

found y', at last. Thought we never would. Talk 

about your needle in a woodpile 

Aaron. Guess we wouldn't yet, 'f 't hadn't be'n f'r 

my detectative instinc'. 
Sarah. But I don't understand — I can't believe it. 

You, Lily Ann — and Aaron — way down here in 

New York — and together! What does it mean? 
Aaron. Oh, we just thought we'd take a little trip. 
Lily Ann. Thought mebbe you'd be glad to see us. 
Sarah. Why, — I am — of course — but — it don't seem 

respectable. What'll folks say? Do they know 

about it, there in Brookville? 
Aaron. Sure. Regular crowd there, t* see us off. 
Sarah. Lily Ann — what does it mean? Are you 

crazy ? 
Lily Ann. I d' know but I am. Miss Newcomb. I 

guess you'll think so, when I tell y'. The truth 

is — we're married, 
Sarah. Married! You — and — Aaron Flint? 
Lily Ann. Good land, you don't suppose I'd be 

takin' a trip with him, t' New York, if I wa'n't? 

You know me better 'n that, Miss Newcomb. 

We've been married — three days, ain't it, Aaron? 

Seems more like three weeks — 'r months — t' me. 
Aaron. Oh, it does, does it? Much obliged. 
Sarah. But how 'd it ever happen? After the way 

73 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



you always vowed, Lily Ann. But, I declare, 
I'm so upset I forgot to be polite. Set down, Lily 
Ann — and you, too, Aaron. Land sakes, Lily 
Ann, I suppose I ought to call you " Mrs. Flint." 

Lily Ann. Mercy me, don't you do it. I wouldn't 
know the answer. Lily Ann I was, Lily Ann I 
am, and Lily Ann I always will be. 

Sarah. I guess you will be, to me, anyway. But 
tell me 

Lily Ann. Oh, — well, Aaron he kept pesterin' me 
till I couldn't stand it any longer, so all of a 
sudden I up 'n' said yes. Had t' do it t' get red 
of him. Made up m' mind it 'd be easier t' handle 
a husban' than a feller 't wanted t' be. B'sides, 
th' 'nducements was too much for me. I couldn't 
hold out any longer when he said we'd come t' 
New York 'n' see you— 'n' all the sights. 

Aaron. I'd be'n savin' up f'r a consid'able spell, with 
this 'ere trip in view — 'n' when I set my mind to 
a thing — wal, I mos' gen'ally git it. 

Sarah. I must say I admire your perseverance, 
Aaron. 'N' I'm glad you took him, Lily Ann. 
Only I hope it don't mean you're goin' t' desert 
me 

Lily Ann. No, indeed. Miss Newcomb, not much. 
I cal'late we'll stick closer 'n ever. Jest run away 
for a little wedd'n' tower, so t' speak. Sile Ben- 
nett and Fidelia are lookin' after things 't the 
farm — we attended t' that all right. We're jest 
takin' a week. 

Aaron. Yes, 'n' crowdin' a heap int' it, you bet. 
Be'n stoppin' at the Astor House 

Lily Ann. Sounds real flowery, don't it? 'Tis, too, 
— 'n' expensive. 

Aaron. 'Propriate, too, for a newly married bridal 
couple. He " aster," and she said she would 

Lily Ann. Aaron Flint, don't try t' be smart. Land 
sakes, Miss Newcomb, I have my hands full with 
him. Honest, I didn't know anybuddy could be 
so green 

Sarah, Why, Lily Ann 



74 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Lily Ann. Well, he is. The man at the hotel told 
us a good show t' go to would be the " Hippo "- 
drome, and Aaron, he says, " Is that where they 
have trained ' M/»/>o '-potumuses ? " As if they 
could ! 

Aaron. I guess you needn't talk. When a policeman 
told us that tall, slim building was the Flatiron 
Building, Lily Ann, she says, right out — " Oh, 
le's go in 'n' see 'em make some flatirons ! " 

Lily Ann. I was jest jokin'. I guess that wa'n't no 
worse'n you tryin' t' blow out th' 'lectric light 

Aaron. Say — that'll do ! Don't you believe her. Miss 
Newcomb. I guess I ain't sech an old hay-seed 
's all that. 'Twa'n't me, 't any rate, when we was 
up in Central Park, 'n' they p'inted out that big 
statute they call Cleopatry's Needle, 't said, " Nee- 
dle? What do they call it a needle for — they 
ain't no eye-hole to it." 

( They begin to show signs of a real *' tiff-" Sarah 
tries to pacify them.) 

Sarah. When it comes to that, I guess we ain't no 
greener 'n the city folks are in the country. Re- 
member that girl from New York that boarded 
with Mis' Orcutt last summer — 't wanted t' know 
which cow it was 't give butter milk 

Aaron. Gosh! I remember her. She jes' thought 
it was cute t' pertend she didn't know nothin'. 

Lily Ann. Well, they's plenty of 'em 't don't have 
t' " pertend." But my goodness, Miss Newcomb, 
we ain't asked y' how you are, and — about that 
boy, your nephew — 'n' all. How's it comin' out? 

Sarah. We're hoping for the best, Lily Ann. I'll 
tell you all about it, later on. You must be tired 
now, and want to get brushed up a little. I'll see 
about a room 

Lily Ann. Oh, you needn't bother, Miss Newcomb. 
It might put you out some — b'sides, what 'd Mis' 
Brewster think? 

Sarah. Oh, I can fix that all right. You leave it to 
me. 

75 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



(She starts up c, as if to show them upstairs. Lily 
Ann pauses c. ; Aaron is l. c.) 

Lily Ann. Well, we might stay one night. Looks 
real stylish here, don't it? But I s'po«e you're 
gett'n' used to it? 

Sarah. No, I can't say I am. I can't hardly wait 
to get back to the farm. But, come on, and we'll 
see where you can sleep. I guess in the room 
right next to mine. 

Lily Ann. Oh, that'll be fine. Aaron, where's that 
bundle ? 

Aaron (taking package from chair, where she had 
placed it). Here 'tis, dearie! 

Lily Ann (sniffing, at his display of sentiment. 
Takes package). Here's a few things I brought 
you. Miss Newcomb. Jes' two 'r three o' my 
fried-cakes, a little bottle of that preserved water- 
melon rine you're so fond of — 'n' two or three 
other little things 

Sarah (taking package). Oh, Lily Ann — how good 
of you ! My, but they'll taste good. I'm so tired 
of their fancy cookin' here — and some of your 
fried-cakes ! 

Lily Ann. Of course, they may be a little dry 

Aaron. 'N' I got a dozen or so o' red apples for 
Len Fillmore in m' grip — thought he might want 
t' treat Miss Brewster. Is he still shinin' up to 
her? 

Lily Ann. Aaron Flint — as if she'd have him ! Not 
but what he's too good for her. And how is Len, 
Miss Newcomb? 

Sarah. Oh, he's well. 'Bout played out, though, with 
the struggle to save my boy. But we'll do it — 
we will. I'd better show you your room now. 

(She is about to lead the way upstairs, zvhen Helen 
enters r. She sees them — shows surprise.) 

Helen. Why, if it Isn't 

Sarah. Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Flint! 
Helen. What! married — vou two? 

76 



ALIAS 3IISS SBERLOCK 



Aaron. Sure. Ain't two enough? 

Lily Ann. Don't mind him, Miss Brewster. He 
ain't responsible. Yes, we're married and on our 
trip. Jest called to see Miss Newcomb and she's 
kind enough t' want us t' stay all night — if it 
won't put you out 

Helen {with a display of cordiality, shaking hands 
with them). Why, no, of course it won't. We 
have plenty of room. Please accept my congratu- 
lations. 

Lily Ann. Thank you. 

Aaron. And wishin' you the same 

Sarah. I was just going to take 'em up-stairs, Helen. 
I thought I'd put 'em in the room next to mine. 
I guess it'll be all right, won't it ? 

Helen. Of course it will. But I'll call Henson. 

{Presses button.) 

Aaron. Huh ! I guess he ain't much stuck on waitin* 
on us, if we be a newly married bridal couple on 
our wedd'n' tower. (Helen smiles good-na- 
turedly. Lily Ann frowns at Aaron, with an 
admonishing shake of her head.) Oh, well, that's 
what we be, 'n' I ain't ashamed of it. By the way, 
we brung you something, Miss Brewster, 

Helen. Something for me? 

Aaron. Yep. Right from the farm. Some o' them 
red apples. Leastwise, I brung Len Fillmore 
some, 'n' I reckon he'll be willin' t' divide with y'. 

(Helen looks somewhat confused. Enter Henson r.) 

Helen. Henson, show Mr. and Mrs. FUnt to the 
r©om next to Miss Newcomb's. 

(Aaron has taken up grip, hut now yields it to Hen- 
son, who handles it with extreme caution, as if 
fearing contamination.) 

Aaron. Y' needn't be afraid of it, Mister Butler. It 
won't bite. (Henson, in his stiff est manner, goes 
up the stairs, carrying the suitcase. Aaron takes 
the umbreUa, package, etc. He and Lily Ann 

77 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



are following Henson upstairs, she preceding 

him. Part way up, Aaron turns and speaks.) 

Hope you'll like the apples, Miss Brewster. 

Thought mebbe they'd seem like old times — them 

red ones, y' know. 

Helen. T-thank you. You are very kind 

Lily Ann. Aaron Flint, you come up here. They 

ain't the same apples at all. Miss Brewster. 

They're all gone long ago, them summer ones. 

But these are red — and twice as sweet. 
Aaron (at top of stairs, as he is about to follow Lily 

Ann, who has made her exit). And not half s' 

apt t' give y' the stummick-ache. 

(Exit Aaron. Helen, paying no attention to his re* 
mark, crosses to r. c. Sarah comes down to c.) 

Sarah. You mustn't mind them, Helen. They mean 
all right. I hope you don't mind their comin'. I 
was just as much surprised as you were. They 
never let me know a thing about it. 

Helen. Why should I care? I am glad, if you are 
pleased to see them. 

Sarah. Well, I don't know what Em '11 say. 

(Henson comes down-stairs. Exit r.) 

Helen. She has no right to object. Isn't this prac- 
tically your house, now? Surely 

Sarah. Helen ! You know I don't want you to feel 
that way. Don't you think, with all we've got to 
bear, we might be a little closer together — you 
and me, Helen ? I'm your aunt — I want to see 
you happy — if only 

Helen. I'm afraid there's not much happiness in 
store for me. Aunt Sarah. Even if you succeed 
in saving Dick, as you seem to think you can, you 
can't save me 

Sarah. Why, Helen, girl, what do you mean? 
You've given up that man, and now — isn't there 

another one — some one you really 

78 



ALIAS 31188 SHERLOCK 



Helen. There is no one else. I have sent for him 
— to ask his forgiveness for what I said to him. 
He is coming this afternoon. I am to be — his. 

Sarah. But, Helen, vou can't marry that man. Even 
if he still wants you — you mustn't 

Helen. I can. I must. It is the only way. I have 
made up my mind. 

Sarah. Well, I guess you're woman enough to 
change it — to make it up all over again. If you 
knew what that man is — what he has done 

Helen. It would make no difference. 

(She kindly but firmly puts Sarah aside and goes up 
R. There she meets Mrs. Brewster, who enters 
R. u. e. Sarah goes towards Mrs. Brewster, 
speaks with vehemence. , Helen pauses.) 

Sarah. Em Brewster, what kind of woman are you 
— what kind of mother? A woman that thinks 
of nothing but herself — of having a fine house to 
live in — grand clothes to put on her back and 
jewelry to hang around her neck and dangle in 
her ears ! — a mother who would sell her own 
daughter to get those things — sell her to a man 
who isn't fit to wipe a decent girl's shoes. Is 
that what you are — my sister ? Then I'm ashamed 
of you — sorry we had the same mother. Look 
what's come to your son — and now you want to 
bring your daughter to something worse. He's 
innocent, while you — you want to make this girl 

the property of a man who has — who But 

you shan't do it — you shan't ! 

Mrs. Brewster (who has stood, apparently too dumb- 
founded to speak, or as if trying in vain to do so). 
How dare you talk to me like this — how dare 
you? 

Sarah. Dare? Do you think I'm afraid of you — of 
anything — when it comes to this? No! What 
I'm afraid of is to trust you with your own child 
— and I'm going to save her — from you — from 
her own mother ! 

79 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



(She has gone up r. and now exits. Mrs. Brewster 
and Helen seem too surprised to speak. Mrs. 
Brewster quivering with anger, standing c. ; 
Helen, who has gone to l. c, overcome with 
grief and shame, sinks into chair, covering her. 
face with hands.) 

Mrs. Brewster. I will not put up with it. I shall 
turn her out of the house, even if she is my sister. 

Helen. Perhaps it is she who can turn us out. Don't 
forget that. 

Mrs. Brewster. She — with her paltry money ! We'll 
see how far she can go. She shall leave this 
house ? 

Helen. But wait. Soon she may have no further 
claim upon us. 

Mrs. Brewster. Helen — what do you mean? That 
you have reconsidered ? That it is not too late ? 

Helen (she has risen, stands c). It means that I 
have sent for him — that he is coming back. 

Mrs. Brewster (as if to caress her, but desisting, as 
Helen draws away, coldly). My daughter! — my 
own, darling child 

Helen. No — please. Let there be no false sentiment 
between us. I am going to sacrifice myself-^he 
is coming to gloat over me — over the woman who, 
after all, humbles herself at his feet. Let us un- 
derstand each other. Mother — tell the truth, this 
once, then I will seal it up in my heart forever 
and bear it all in silence. 

Mrs. Brewster. Helen — no! If you feel that way 
about it, I won't let you 

Helen. Oh, you needn't upbraid 3^ourself. I know 
what I am doing. It may mean that we can free 
Dick, too — hide our disgrace. Money can do any- 
thing Hke that. I needn't count. It doesn't mat- 
ter that I shall be living a lie. I shall not be the 
first woman that has sold herself — for money — 
to a man she loathes — when she — loves — another ! 

Mrs. Brewster. Helen ! You don't mean — ^you 

can't Not that you love 

80 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



(Helen turns to her, in a sudden, brief surrender tq 
her real feelings.) 

Helen. Yes. Let me own it this once — though not 
to him. He shall never know. But I love him — 
I love him! I have, from the first — though I 
didn't realize it then. He is a " man " — a true, 
noble man — worthy of my love — of any woman's 
love. But I — I am not worthy of his ! 

{She breaks down. Mrs. Brewster looks at her with 
some show of compassion, but still evidently re- 
joicing that she has gained her point.) 

Mrs. Brewster. But — that uncouth countryman 

Helen {throwing off her real feelings, zvith a forced 
air of hardness and indifference, though still with 
a trace of deeper emotion). We will not speak of 
it any more — ever again. Remember. But you 
needn't fear. I shall keep my word. (She is 
about to go up r., but suddenly pauses.) Oh, by 
the way, I forgot — we have some guests. 

Mrs. Brewster. Guests? 

Helen. Yes. Whom no doubt you will be overjoyed 
to see. Old friends of yours — Mr. and Mrs. 
Flint 

Mrs. Brewster. F- Flint ? You cannot mean ? 

Helen. Aaron and his blushing b'ride, Lily Ann, 
from the fair domain of the Newcomb farm in 
Brookville. They are here on their wedding trip, 
and have honored us with their presence for a 
brief sojourn. I must confess I was quite pleased 
to see them. 

Mrs. Brewster. I shall not submit. How could 
Sarah presume to invite them here ? 

Helen. She didn't. They took her by surprise also. 
But I shouldn't worry. Doubtless they will be 
sufficiently entertained, without our assistance. 
{The door-bell rings; Helen starts, with a sup- 
pressed shudder.) That may be — I cannot see 
him, just yet. I will be in the library. 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



{Exit Helen r. Enter Henson r., goes out l. u. e. 
Mrs. Brewster stands r. c, with an expectant 
look, denoting triumph. After a pause, Henson 
shows in Leonard Fillmore. Exit Henson r.) 

Mrs. Brewster (sttddenly assuming a cold, distant 
manner). Good afternoon, Mr. Fillmore. You 
will pardon me. I was expecting a gentleman 

(Starts to go up r., disdaining him. He has entered 
expectantly, with a cordial look, but " wilts," half 
good-naturedly, at her attitude.') 

Leonard. Oh ! — I see. Sorry, if I don't fill the bill. 

Mrs. Brewster {realizing her rudeness, speaking a 
bit more cordially). Of course, I meant — an- 
other gentleman. 

Leonard. Thanks. I feel better. But I called to see 
Miss Newcomb — if I may. 

Mrs. Brewster. I will have her informed that you 
are here. 

{Exit Mrs. Brewster r. Leonard is down r. c, by 
table ; does not notice Aaron and Lily Ann, who 
appear at top of stairs. They have " tidied up" 
Aaron with hair shiiply sleeked, etc.; Lily Ann 
with change to brighter dress or shirtwaist, or 
with an added gay ribbon or something of the 
sort. They see Leonard, steal down close to him, 
one on either side.) 

Aaron and Lily Ann. How d' do? 

Leonard {turns, sees them, almost overcome by sur- 
prise) . Wh-what ? Aaron — Lily Ann ! 

Aaron. Mr. 'n' Mrs. Aaron Flint, 'f you please. 

Leonard. Never! You don't mean ? 

Aaron. Sure thing. Ask m' blushing bride. 

Lily Ann. Yes, Len — that's us. 

Leonard. Well, I'll be switched! You've put one 
over on us this time, and no mistake. Shake! 
{Gives one hand to each; they shake most cor- 
dially. ) Wonders will never cease. So you gave 
in at last, Lily Ann ? 

82 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Lily Ann. Land, Len, I jest had to. They wa'n't 
no other way, 's I could see, of ever gett'n' t' New 
York. I jest had to come and see you and Miss 
Newcomb, 'n' find out everything — if you're goin' 
t' save that boy, 'n' all. Jest couldn't stand it. 

Leonard. And a little thing like having Aaron, here, 
for a husband, didn't count. 

Aaron. She's got me, though, 'n' I'll keep, even after 
we git back to the farm. Then my part '11 come 
in. 

Lily Ann. I ain't worry in'. Tell me, Len, how are 
you — what's the prospects — 'n' everything? 

Leonard. I can't tell you now ; I'm almost too over- 
come — and so glad to see you — that I can hardly 
talk. Hope you'll stay long enough for us to give 
you the best time anybody ever had. But just at 
present I'm up to my neck in the job of my life. 
The trial comes off day after to-morrow, and 
there's a lot to do before then. 

Lily Ann. Oh, Len — you going to save him? 

Leonard. Well, I can tell you this much — if I do, 
it will be owing to Miss Newcomb — to what she 
has done. That woman's a wonder. What she 
can't see through and figure out 

Aaron. Detectative instinct — jest like mine. 

Lily Ann. Huh ! you couldn't detect a clue as big as 
an elephant, 'nless it bit y'. I ain't s'prised at 
Miss Newcomb, though — all them mystery stories 
and sech 

Leonard. I'm waiting to see her — it's most im- 
portant — so, if you don't mind — will you just 
leave us alone for a few minutes? I'm sorry, 
but you understand 

Aaron. Sure we do. We'll jest snoop around a lit- 
tle 'n' see what we can see. Come along, sweetie ! 

Lily Ann {sniffing at his show of sentiment, as she 
follows him fo l. 2 e.). All right, Len. Mebbe 
we'll find the kitchen, so 't I can see what kind o' 
hired girl they got. I might get a few pointers on 
real style, so 't when you and your city bride come 
to Brookville on your wedd'n' trip 

83 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Aaron. Oh, come, Lily-bud. I'll bet he'd ruther 
have your cookin' any day. Wouldn't y', Len ? 

Leonard. You've said it, Aaron 

Aaron. But I ain't objectin' t' gitt'n' a sniff o' what 
we're goin' t' get here for supper. I'm as hungry 
as seven bears and a woodchuck. 

{Exit Aaron l. 2 e.) 

Lily Ann. So'ra I, t' tell the truth. 1 don't see's 
bein' married spoils y'r appetite a bit — 'ceptin' for 
bein' married. 

{Exit Lily Ann, l. 2 e. Leonard smiles, turns and 
meets Sarah, who enters r.) 

Sarah. Oh, Len, here you are at last, I've been al- 
most crazy, waitin' for you. Tell me — did you 
fix it? Will that woman be here? 

Leonard. Yes. I had quite a time, but at last con- 
vinced Markham that it was of crucial impor- 
tance. She has left the apartment, and at first 
he said we must come to headquarters, wdiere she 
is detained as a material witness. But finally he 
consented to bring her here. It looks like things 
were playing into our hands, at last. 

Sarah. Didn't I tell you they would? They're sure 
to come right in the end. 

Leonard. Well — it's a good thing to hope, anyway. 
And as for hope — do you think there's any — I 
mean, do you think 

Sarah. Sure there is, Len. But you've got to fight 
for that, too. It's her mother. If it wasn't for 
her 

Leonard. Why, what has she done — now? 

Sarah. I hate to tell you, Len, but the truth is, 
Helen has sent for that man to come back — to 
take back what she said to him — to tell him she'll 
be his. 

Leonard. But how can she — when she knows? 

Sarah. You mustn't let her. Assert your rights. 
She thinks she must sacrifice herself, — but do you 
mean to stand back and let that man have her? 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Huh ! I'd grab her up and carry her off by main 
force, first. 

Leonard. M'm — " Cave-man " stuff. A good idea. 

Sarah. Well, I don't know about any cave part, but 
I guess you're just the man that could do it, once 
you got y'r spunk up. But tell me — I'm dying to 
know — how is Dick bearing up ? 

Leonard. Like a man. He has new courage — thanks 
to you. We can't fail now — we mustn't. But I 
guess it's still up to you. Miss Newcomb. The 
woman sticks to her story — hasn't budged an 
inch — the police believe her, and if you can't 
shake her, I don't know who or what can. She's 
a pretty slick one. 

Sarah. All I want is one more chance at her. What 
we've found out in the past three weeks may be 
a little surprise for her, and a few others. It 
takes a woman to see through a woman — and 1 
began to see through that one in just about two 
minutes. That French accent didn't sound quite 
like the real thing to me, little as I know about it. 
She slipped back into plain " American " with- 
out noticin' it, once or twice, — and I noticed what 
none of you men did — that her eyes don't match 
that black hair and that that hair has been dyed. 
And she was a httle too ready to explain things 
— hke she'd thought 'em out beforehand. And 
those two keys ! Two keys that fit the same lock 
don't have different nicks to 'em — my fingers soon 
told me that. (The door-bell rings.) There's the 
bell again. I guess that's about the busiest little 
door-bell in New York lately. Henson is earning 
his wages for once, and I mean to see that he 
gets 'em. (Enter Henson, r.) Henson, who- 
ever that is, keep 'em out there in the hall, till 
you let us know who it is. (Exit Henson, l. u. 
E. There is a slight pause; Sarah goes up and 
looks off L. u. E.) It's them. 

Leonard. Then I'll vanish, for the present. Now's 
your chance. 

Sarah. Ur-rrr! I sort o' dread it, after all. (Exit 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Leonard, l. 2 e. Sarah is down r. c, as Mark- 
ham enters l. u. e. He comes down, looking 
somewhat puzzled and not altogether pleased.) 
Good afternoon, Mr. Markham. 

Markham. Well, I've brought the woman. What 
you going to do about it ? 

Sarah. Talk to her a few minutes, if you'll let me. 

Markham. I don't see what for. That woman's 
talked and been talked to, till there's nothing more 
to be said. Don't you suppose we've got every- 
thing out of her she's got to tell? 

Sarah. All she's got to tell you, maybe — but not all 
she's got to tell, if I can make her tell it. 

Markham {sneering, with a sarcastic laugh'). Queer 
kind of business, this, anyway, and sort of ir- 
regular. But Fillmore told me it was for some- 
thing that couldn't jbe done in any other way, and 
I didn't want to be contrary. I suppose it's all 
right. It's only fair to give you your chance, I 
suppose, though I must say I don't see what you 
think you're going to do. 

Sarah. What I'm going to do first, Mr. Markham, 
is to ask you to leave me alone with her. 

Markham. I don't see any objection to that. But 

of course, I'll have to stick around 

Sarah. I want you to. {Indicating l. 2 e.) In that 
room. I want you to hear every word that is 
said, and act accordingly. 

Markham. That's satisfactory. She's out in the 
hall, there. I told her to wait. Oh, — Higgins is 
outside. I told him to trail along and keep his 
eye peeled. {Going to l. 2 e.) In here? 

Sarah. Yes. You'll find Mr. Fillmore in there. He 
understands. 

Markham. Well, that's more than I do. But I'll 
chance it. 

(^Exit Markham, l. 2 e. Sarah stands a moment, as 
if to gain courage; then goes and looks off l. u. e. 
She makes a slight motion. Henson appears in 

L. U. E.) 

86 



ALIAS 3IISS SHERLOCK 



Sarah. Bring the woman in here, Henson. 

{Exit Henson. He reappears, shows in Delphine, 
and again exits. Delphine appears in l. u. e., 
pauses, looks about, curiously, with a manner de- 
noting some suspicion. She wears a long Mack 
veil over her hat, which she now throws back. 
Sarah, having withdrawn to r. c, stands watch- 
ing her. Delphine comes down, turns, sees 
Sarah. Starts. ) 

Delphine. So! — it is you, Madame? 

Sarah. Won't you sit down ? 

Delphine {she does not sit as yet). But — why am I 
brought here? I do not understand. I was not 
told that it was to see you. What house is this — 
why do I come here' 

Sarah. Well, you see, I thought you must think it 
kind of funny, the way I left you so suddenly that 
day — and I haven't been feeling very well lately, 
so I — I thought it would be real kind of you to 
come and see me, so I could apologize for carry- 
ing off your keys the way I did. You see, I was 
so excited, after what I'd been through, that I 
really didn't know what I was doing. I guess 
you understand 

Delphine. Oh, oui — certainment, Madame. But to 
come here — it is strange. However — I am here. 

Sarah. Yes, and do sit down. Might as well be 
comfortable. I hear you're not staying at that 
flat any more. 

Delphine. No. It was so — as you said — gloomy — 
" lonesome." And the thought of poor Mees 

Navarre Oh, it is too much! But I must 

not go away — they detain me — as a witness. Ooo ! 
it is too terreeble — I must tell it all — in court ! 

Sarah. I don't wonder you dread it. But think of 
me — and my boy 

Delphine. It is too bad — I sympathize — but I must 
tell all 

87 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Sarah. Yes, you must tell — all. Aren't there a few 
things you haven't told — yet ? 

Delphine. I do not understand. Does Madame in- 
tend to insinuate 

Sarah. No. That's a good, plain English word — 
" insinuate " — and you didn't say it a bit 
" Frenchy," but — I wa'n't " insinuating." I'm 
just asking. Couldn't you tell a few more things, 
if you would? 

Delphine. Madame ! What is it that you mean ? 

Sarah. Oh, I wish you wouldn't keep calling me 
" Madame." What I meant was, 't mebbe you 
could help me a little as to why those two keys 
were different, when you said they were for the 
same lock. 

Delphine. Then I mistake. It does not matter. 
We have many keys. 

Sarah. But those two were enough for me — they 
proved a pretty good fit to what I was tidying to 
open. One fit the front door to your apartment 
— the other the back door — to the kitchen-" ette," 
or whatever they call it. 

Delphine. But of course, there must be a key to that 
door also. 

Sarah. Of course. Or how could you, after you 
came up in the elevator, that day, have slipped 
around first to that hack door — gone into the 
kitchen — through the dining-room, into that other 
room — and then 

Delphine {becoming alarmed, but making a good ef- 
fort to conceal her growing suspicion and fear). 
What do you mean ? I came in the front door — 
directly to the room where Miss Navarre lay dead 
— shot by your nephew — direct from the hall I 
entered, after getting off the elevator 

Sarah. So you said. But it happens I didn't quite 
see it that way. So I found out which elevator 
boy brought you up. He remembers very well. 
You say you got off the elevator just as the shot 
was fired. You didn't. He let you off at the 
fourth floor, went on up to the tenth, and it was 
88 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



when he got hack to the fourth floor that the gun 
was fired. He heard it. You had been off the 
elevator for five minutes or more 

Delphine {who has sprung up — beginning to lose 
control of herself). It is not true. He lies — 
lies, I say 

Sarah. You had plenty of time to go around to the 
other door — look in to see who was there — see 
your chance of having your revenge, with some- 
body else to be suspected of your deed — fire the 
shot — go back — come in — and 

Delphine (in a furious rage). How dare you say 
such things — accuse me of such an infamous act ? 
It is an outrage ! So that is why you have had 
me brought here — to insult me — to accuse me of 
killing my dear mistress, who was all kindness to 
me — whom I loved. Ah, it is infamous! You 
shall pay for this — you will see — you will see ! 

Sarah. I see that you talk United States much bet- 
ter than you put on a French " accent " — for all 
you are a very clever actress — Miss Bateman! 

Delphine. What ! What do you mean — my name 
is 

Sarah. Eliza Bateman. Of course it is — your real 
name. Quite a well-known actress, too — and a 
pretty good one. French maids are quite a spe- 
cialty of yours, and so your impersonation came 
in very handy, when you went and hired out to 
Miss Navarre — even she didn't see through your 
neat disguise and your assumed " accent." It 
happens I did, though. I was sort of lookin' to. 
That was the difference. 

Delphine. Lies — lies — I say you lie. It is all lies 
— an infamous, vile plot. I will not stay here 

{She is about to leave, hut Sarah bars her way — so 
determinedly that she is compelled to stay, though 
fuming with rage and illy-disguised fear.) 

Sarah. You see, I haven't been losing any time — 
me and that "plain country lawyer" the smart 
89 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



New York lawyers and great detectives have 
made so much fun of. We have done a little de- 
tective work on our own hooks. And found out 
a few things — about you, Miss Bateman. 

Delphine. I know not that name. It is false 

Sarah. You mean " Delphine " is. About that pis- 
tol, too. It was Miss Navarre's. She kept it there 
— you knew where it was — in that room. It was 
easy enough for you to get in, the way you did — 
shoot over Dick Brewster's shoulder — slip out 
and 

Delphine. Be still — ^be still, I say — I will not listen 
— it is false ! I did not do it — no ! — no ! — you lie ! 
— ^you lie ! 

Sarah. It is the truth. 

Delphine. You say I killed my mistress — Miss Na- 
varre. No — no — it was not she I {She 

stops, suddenly, confused, trying to cover her mis- 
take.^ I mean — I could not — she who was so 
good to me How can you say 

Sarah {going close to her — looking straight into her 
face and speaking very deliberately and dis- 
tinctly) . A woman seldom hits what she aims at. 
You didn't ! 

Delphine. What do you mean? I 

Sarah. There was a man in that room also 

Delphine. I know — yes — but to me he was a 
stranger 

Sarah. Maybe a woman has a right to kill the man 
who has wronged her — the man who has prom- 
ised to marry her and then thrown her over — for 
another. Maybe she has a right to put on a dis- 
guise, so she can follow him and prove just how 
false he is to her — I don't know. Maybe there's 
some excuse for a woman doing that. There may 
be some for you. You didn't mean to kill Miss 
Navarre — I believe that — but you meant to kill 
him — it was him you shot at — and you killed her ! 

Delphine. No, no ! You shall not say that ! It is 
not true. I did not know him — I never saw him 

before 

90 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



{The door-hell rings. Sarah goes to l. u. e. — looks 
off. After a slight pause, enter Ralph Deering. 
He conies part way down c. — stops as he sees 
Delphine — surprised, but not recognising her.) 

Deering. I beg pardon. I did not know 



Sarah. Mr. Deering, permit me to introduce — Miss 
Eliza Bateman! 

Deering {too much taken aback to conceal his amaze- 
ment). Eliza — you! What does this mean ? 

Sarah. So, — you recognize her? 

Deering. Why, yes, I — I do now — though she is not 
the same. I never thought 

Sarah. Of course you didn't. How could you — a 
blonde turned into a brunette? 

(Deering looks dumbfounded, but recognizes Del- 
phine, who is unable longer to conceal her 
identity. She still tries desperately to brazen it 
out, hozvever.) 

Delphine. This gentleman is a stranger to me. You 
will excuse 

{She starts to go l. u. e., but Deering steps in her 
way, so that she is compelled to remain.) 

Deering. Wait. I begin to understand. A very 
clever disguise, my girl. It's no wonder I didn't 
recognize you. So — you were tracking me down 
— seeking revenge — eh? I see. It was you who 
fired that shot — at me 

Delphine. It is not true. It's a lie — a lie, I say. 
Let me pass 

Deering. Not so fast. I guess your little game is 
up, Miss Bateman. It didn't work, did it? And 
she took my place 

Delphine (at first seeming about to attempt to brazen 
it out; then, as Deering continues looking stead- 
ily at her, showing fright, which turns to despair 
and desperation). It's no use — I see now. It's 
true — true, — I can deny it no longer. Yes, it was 
you — ^you — who made love to me, led me on, till 

91 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



I gave all — all! — and then deserted me for an- 
other. It drove me mad. I was alone — outcast 
— all because of you, and I resolved to have re- 
venge. But it was not to kill you. No, no, — not 
that! But that day, when I saw you with her, 
heard what you said, I was mad — mad — and in 
that one moment of desperation I tried to end it 
all. The pistol was there, where she kept it, and 
he — the boy — he was there — I fired — at you — al- 
most before I knew what I was doing. I didn't 
know, I was mad — insane, I say, — but I fired, at 
you — I thought — but I killed her — the one who 

had been kind to me, whom I loved Oh, it 

was terrible ! Take me away — I don't care now 
what becomes of me. You are not fit to live, but 
I didn't mean to be a — what you say I am. No — 
no 

\She breaks down, sobbing hysterically. Markham, 
who has entered l. 2 e., goes to her, taking hold 
of her, not ungently.) 

Markham. Leave her to me. I'll look after her. 

(Helen has entered r. in time to hear part of the fore- 
going, unnoticed by the others. Markham sup- 
ports Delphine and takes her up l. He pauses 
as Sarah goes up, speaking to him.) 

Sarah. What will they do with her? Do you 
think 

Markham, No, not so bad. Manslaughter. " Tem- 
porary insanity," perhaps. 

Sarah. Oh, I'm glad. Perhaps she had some ex- 
cuse. 

(She turns, looks accusingly, scornftilly, at Deering, 
who has a defiant attitude, paying no attention to 
her. ) 

Markham. And as to that other — your " boy," 

ma'am, why — this changes things. 
Sarah. You think now, that — that he — that 

Dick 

9a 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



Markham. Well, you and Fillmore might come 
down to headquarters, soon as you can. It'll be 
all right for the boy, now. 

(He goes out l. u. e., with Delphine, who is still 
sobting and moaning, though more quietly than 
before. Deering follows them, after one look at 
Helen, zvhom he has discovered standing up R. 
She " freei::es " him with a contemptuous glance; 
he shrugs his shoidders and exits l. u. e. Sarah 
stands l. c, looking after them, her hands clasped, 
almost zveeping, but with a rapt, joyful expression. 
After a slight pause she turns, sees Helen, who is 
still standing r., pale and motionless, staring 
straight ahead, as if dazed.) 

Sarah {going to Helen, taking hold of her, gently). 
Helen, you have heard — you understand. 

Helen. He is the man who — who 

Sarah. Yes, Helen, the one who was there that night 
— the man who, for revenge on you, told the police 

that it was Dick Oh, Helen, did you need 

this to show you what he is ? 

Helen. No. But this ends it. 

Sarah. It was ended before, dear, only you wouldn't 
believe it. Aren't you glad — thankful ? It means 
that Dick will be free — that you 

Helen. Yes, and you have saved him — saved me. 
Oh, Aunt Sarah, can you ever forgive us — for- 
give me? 

Sarah. There, there, my dear. There's nothing to 
forgive— not a thing. (Helen is weeping. 
Sarah, with an arm about her, leads her up R., 
but pauses as Leonard enters l. 2 e. He pauses 
L. Sarah sees him, leaves Helen and goes to 
him, holding out both hands, which he takes.) 
Oh, Len, Isn't it wonderful? 

Leonard. Wonderful? Yes, it is all wonderful— 
and you are the most wonderful of all. I declare, 
you're a regular Miss Sherlock Holmes ! 

(Helen, at Leonard's entrance, gives him one glance, 

97 



ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 



her face showing deep emotion, indicating that 
she dare not trust herself to speak to him. She 
exits R. ) 

Sarah. Pshaw, I haven't done anything. 'T any 
rate, if I have, I've had pretty good help. And 
now I'm going to — to him ! — and you're going 
with me. 

Leonard. Y-yes, but {Looking r., longingly.) 

Sarah {looking around). Oh, I see. She's run 
away. Wait. {Going r.) And don't forget what 
I told you, Len — about 

Leonard. Oh, I don't think that will be necessary 
now, that " cave stuff." I have something better 

than that. Look — what Aaron gave me 

{Takes a red apple from his pocket; holds it up.) 
I don't think she'll be able to resist that. Do you? 

Sarah. N-no — not when you go with it. 

{Exit Sarah r., looking hack at him with an encour- 
aging smile. He goes over to l. c, stands there 
waiting, looking eagerly towards r., the hand in 
zvhich is the apple behind him. After a slight 
pause enter Sarah r., leading Helen, who comes 
timidly, looking down. Sarah urges her on, to 
c.) 

Leonard. Helen ! {She looks up at him, then her 
glance again falls and she turns as if to go, hut 
Sarah holds her, pushing her gently towards 
Leonard. Helen yields, slozvly. Leonard ad- 
vances a step, holds out the apple, smiling, with 
an adoring look at her.) Look — from the old or- 
chard — our Eden. Will you share it — with me ? 

(She falters, looking down, then up again, meeting his 
gaze with a tender smile — yields — he takes her in 
his arms, puts apple to her lips; kisses it where 
her lips were, — then kisses her. Sarah, her face 
radiant, has gone up r., and exits quietly, just as 
the curtain falls.) 

curtain 
94 



ilnusuaily Good Entertainments 

Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
Your Next Program 

A SURPRISE PARTY AT BRINKLEY'S. An Ea- 

tertainiaent in Oae Scene, by Ward Macauley. Seven male and 
seven female characters. Interior scene, or may be given with- 
ont scenery. Costumes, modem. Time, one hour. By thel 
ifwthor of the popular successes, "Graduation Day at Wood Hill 
^chool," "Ba<ck to the Country Store," etc. The villagers have 
fclanned a birthday surprise party for Mary Brinkley, recently, 
KTaduated from college. They adl join in jolly games, songs,^ 
fconundrums, etc., and Mary becomes engaged, which surprises! 
the surprisers. The entertainment is a sure success. 

JONES VS. JINKS. A Mock Trial in One Act, by 
Edward Mumford. Fifteen male and six femaile characters, with 
supernumeraries if deeired. May be played all male. Many of the 
parts (members of the jury, etc.) are small. Scene, a simple 
interior ; may be played without scenery. Costumes, modern. 
Time of playing, one hour. This mock trial has many novel 
features, unusual characters and quick action. Nearly every 
character has a funny entrance and laughable lines. There are 
many rich parts, and fast fun throughout. 

THE SIGHT-SEEING CAR. A Comedy Sketch in Oae 
Act, by Ernest M. Gould. For seven males, two females, or 
imay be all male. Parts may be doubled, vnth quick changes, so 
that four persons may play the sketch. Time, forty-five minutes. 
Simple street scene. Costumes, modern. The superintendent 
of a sight-seeing automobile engages tf ' men to run the 
machine. A Jew, a farmer, a fat lady a». ^ other humorous 
characters give them all kinds of trouble This is a regular gut- 
ling-gun stream of rollicking repartee. 

THE CASE or SMYTHE VS. SMITH. An Original 
Mock Trial in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eighteen males 
and two females, or may be all male. Plays about one hour. 
Scene, a county courtroom ; requires no scenery ; may be played 
in an ordinary hall. Costumes, modern. This entertainment is 
nearly perfect of its kind, and a sure success. It can be easily 
produced in any place or on any occasion, and provides almost 
any number of good parts. 

THE OIJD MAIDS' ASSOCIATION. A Farcical Enter- 
lainment in One Act, by Louise Latham Wilson. For thirteen 
female« and one male. The male part may be played by a 
female, and the niamber of characters increased to twenty of* 
Imore. Time, forty minutes. The play requires neither scenery?, 
tnor properties, acid very little in the way of costumes. Caa' 
'easily be prepared in one or two rehearsals. ■ 

^ BARGAIN DAY AT BI^OMSTEIN'S. A Farcical 
Entertainment in One Act, by Edwabb Mumford. For five males 
and ten females, with supers. Interior sc©nc. Cdstumes, mod- 
ern. Time, thirty minutes. The ebaraotsrs aati the situatieww 
which arise from their e«deav»FS to buy and sell make rapid-^n 
ftui froKD start to finish. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 



Uousualiy Good Entertainments 

Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
Your Next Program 

GRADUATION DAT AT WOOD HILL SCHOOL. 

An Entertainment in Two Acts, by Ward Macaulky. For »ix 
males and four females, with several minor parts. Time ®f 
flajing, two hours. Modern costumes. Simple interior scenes; 
may be presented in a hall without scenery. The unusual com<i 
j^ination of a real "entertainment," including music, recitations 
etc., with an interesting love story. The graduation exerciseel 
include short speeches, recitations, songs, funny interruptioa^ 
aad a comical speech by a country school trustee. 

XXAMIMATION DAY AT WOOD HILL SCHOOXi. 

Aa Entertainment in One Act, by Ward Macauley. Eight mal« 
•ad six female characters, with minor parts. Plays one hour. 
Scene, an easy interior, or may be given without scenery. Cea- 
tuxnes, modem. Miss Marks, the teacher, refuses to marry a 
trustee, who threatens to discharge her. The examination ia- 
•ludcs recitations and songs, and brings out many funny answers 
lo questions. At the close Robert Coleman, an old lover, claims 
the teacher. Very easy and very effective. 

BACK TO THE COUNTRY STORE. A Rural Enter- 
tainment in Three Acts, by Ward Macauley. For four male 
and five female characters, with some supers. Time, two hours. 
Two scenes, both easy interiors. Can be played effectively witk- 
•ut scenery. Costumes, modern. All the principal parts are 
sure hits. Quiglcy Higginbotham, known as "Quig," a clerk in 
a country store, aspires to be a great author or singer and 
decides to try his fortunes in New York. The last scene is ia 
Qais's home. He returns a failure but is offered a partnership 
in the country store. He pops the question in the midst of a 
surprise party given in his honor. Easy to do and very funny. 



DISTRICT CONVENTION. A Farcical Sketcb 
ia One Act, by Frank Dumont. For eleven males and one 
feaiale, or twelve males. Any number of other parts or super- 
numeraries may be added. Plays forty-five minutes. No special' 
Wcaery is required, and the costumes and properties are all' 
easy. The play shows an uproarious political nominating con- 
veation. The climax comes when a woman's rights cham- 

fion, captures the convention. There is a great chance to bur- 
csque modem politics and to work in local gags. Every 
part will make a hit. 

81 SLOCUM'8 COUNTRY STORE. An Et;tertainmenV 
ia One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eleven male and five female 
characters with supernumeraries. Several parts may be doubled. 
Plays one hour. Interior scene, or may be played without set 
scenery. Costumes, modern. The rehearsal for an entertain- 
ment in the village church gives plenty of opportunity for 
Specialty work. A very jolly entertainment of the sort adapted 
t» ahaest any place or occasion. 

THE PENN PUBUSHING COMPANY 

PHIL ADEU*HI a^ 



Successful Plays for All Girls 

In Selecting Your Next Play Do Not Overlook Thia List 

YOUNG DOCTOR DEVINE. A Farce in Two Acts, 
by Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellovv. One of the most popular 
plays for girls. For nine female characters. Time in 
playing, thirty minutes. Scenery, ordinary interior. Mod- 
ern costumes. Girls in a boarding-school, learning that a 
young doctor is coming to vaccinate all the pupils, eagerly con- 
sult each other as to the manner of fascinating the physician. 
When the doctor appears upon the scene the pupils discover that 
the physician is a female practitioner. 

SISTER MASONS. A Burlesque in One Act, by Frank 
DuMONT. For eleven females. Time, thirty minutes. Costumes, 
fantastic gowns, or dominoes. Scene, interior. A grand expose 
of Masonry. Some women profess to learn the secrets of a 
Masonic lodge by hearing their husbands talk in their sleep, 
and they institute a similar organization. 

A COMMANDING POSITION. A Farcical Enter- 
tainment, by Amelia Sanford. For seven female char- 
acters and ten or more other ladies and children. Time, one 
hour. Costumes, modem. Scenes, easy interiors and one street 
scene. Marian Young gets tired living with her aunt, Miss 
Skinflint. She decides to "attain a commanding position." 
Marian tries hospital nursing, college settlement work and 
school teaching, but decides to go back to housework. 

HOW A WOMAN KEEPS A SECRET. A Comedy 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For ten female characters. 
Time, half an hour. Scene, an easy interior. Costumes, modern. 
Mabel Sweetly has just become engaged to Harold, but it's "the 
deepest kind of a secret." Before announcing it they must win 
the approval of Harold's uncle, now in Europe, or lose a possible 
ten thousand a year. At a tea Mabel meets her dearest friend. 
Maude sees Mabel has a secret, she coaxes and Mabel tells her. 
But Maude lets out the secret in a few minutes to another 
friend and so the secret travels. 

THE OXFORD ATFAtR. A Comedy in Three Acts, 
by Josephine H. Cobb and Jennie E. Paine. For eight female 
characters. Plays one hour and three-quarters. Scenes, inter- 
iors at a seaside hotel. Costumes, modern. The action of the 
play is located at a summer resort. Alice Graham, in order to 
chaperon herself, poses as a widow, and Miss Oxford first claims 
her as a sister-in-law, then denounces her. The onerous duties 
of Miss Oxford, who attempts to serve as chaperon to Miss 
Howe and Miss Ashton in the face of many obstacles, furnish 
an evening of rare enjoyment. 

THE PENN PUBUSHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



The Power of 



J 

LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 




Expression and efficiency go hand i ..,.„. „ 

018 482 086 9 4 
The power of clear and forceful expression uuugs ^^,m^ 

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It te an invaluable asset to any man or woman. It can often 
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In learning to express thought^ we learn to ccMtnmand 
tiiought itself, and thought is power. You can have this 
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Whoever has the power of clear expression is always suf« 
of himself. 

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Successful public speaking 

Effective recitals 

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IJIicy are all successfully taught at The National Sehod oC 
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A catalogue giving full information as to how any of these 
•coomplishments may be attained will be sent free on request. 

THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF 
ELOCUTION AND ORATORY 

40n Chesrnot Street PhiladclphU 



